Species
by Ngoc Chau
Summary: From the writer of Red and Nocturnal Emissions..... There are a lot of secrets in District 9.... Christopher's son is one of them. Takes place before the movie. Romance. Fluff. Sci-fi. Christopher/OC Please read and review. Chap 6 is up
1. Arriving Home On Mother Planet

**Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.**

**I just fell in love with the movie after seeing it. I hope that all my readers will see it too. If you do, email me and we'll have something to talk about.**

**This takes place after they get onto the mothership.**

* * *

_The mothership lands so softly on the ground that it does not feel natural to him.  
His son jumps off his knee, running back and forth down the length of the bridge. "We're here, father! We're here!" The chirping and clicking continues on and on in such a joy that he himself does not think that this is his real son. His son -on Earth- had complained and cried nearly every night from the harshness of the slums of District 9._

_He shudders as he recalls the conditions of living; the dry feeling every day, the lack of fresh nutrition, the beatings and yelling, the waste and garbage that were adorned all over the walls, and the dangers of gangs and brutes. On his planet, he had been a high-ranking official in engineering and he had been treated with respect -even being called _**Trist**_; a good position of high authority and leadership. When he came to Earth, a temporary means of refuge when disease had taken over their planet, he was dragged first into a dark room where he coud barely make out the faces in front of him. The voices were cruel and commanding. Whatever he said was not taken into heed. They heard him, but did they listen?_

_He lifts himself up from his seat, his aches and joints stiff as rigor and threatening him a week of pain to come. He follows his son who stands at the doorway of the mothership, jumping up and down to be let down to explore what truly is their world. He is scared to face what has become of his home; his life. He is even more scared to let his son see and become disappointed by the world he had built up so highly, only to be let down.  
"Father! Father! Please open the door! I want to see! I want to go out!" he begs and pleads._

_He cannot stand to see his son so anxious, he only wants him to be happy. He builds up backbone to face the look on his son's face that he sure will grow as soon as he sees the world outside. A few clicks from his mandibles run in a small rhthym and he opens the door.  
The beepings sound off like a salute, almost taunting him,_ 'You are home, but there is nothing there. You are home, but there is nothing there. You are home, but there is nothing there. You are home, but there is nothing there.....'

_The doors open and the entire darkroom of the mothership is filled with a light. He steps out, his eyes to the sky and squinting, not even daring to look down on the ground and see what has happened in his people's absence. He is submitted to look when he hears his son's questioning chirping.  
The planet is not as destitute as he remembers. It is wet -sweet water is there- and greenery has returned but only in small sprouts. The small lower life-forms are still there, acting like nothing has happened, but he wonders what has happened to the rest of his people who chose to stay behind for the better good of their species. Still, it is awful to see the homeworld that he remembers from his youth so destroyed and empty like it has just finished a cold season and everything is slowly growing.  
In almost 30 earth years, this is all that is left after the Red Sickness. He falls to his knees as he thinks all about the deaths of his people and the future that they have strived for to be destroyed by microscopic monsters._

_He bows his head down, not even wanting to look ahead at his land. But his son's cries have him face it. "It's so beautiful! It's so beautiful! I love it! I love it! Our world is so perfect."_

_Unbelievably, he wants to tell his son to shut up. He wants to tell him to sit down and face the truth. Their world may be greener than District 9, but is it really that much better? It is barely better than District 9; with the ruins of everything in front of them like a grand display. He wants to just march up to his son and strike him there for being so blind and stupid about it all, but parental love and exhaustion hold him back.  
Before he can stop it, he starts to cry.  
His world that was so beautiful is _**this**_. The waters that overflowed nearly every week are barely full, the foliage that were hiding places for all are gone, and the ground feels more like sand than native soil. He can still smell disease and garbage on the walls. It is not better than District 9. He wishes that his son could've been born before the disease, the dying -everything- so that he could've seen the beauty that he had in days of yore. He rethinks that wish and realizes that it is better that his son not compare what once was to the wreck it is now._

_His hand pats against his ragged articles of clothing, feeling around for something that should've been there. He cannot find it and lays out his hand in front of his wet bruised face. He thinks to himself,_ 'Fuck. I should've brought it with me, I should've kept it safe.'

_Whatever the object was, most likely it has been destroyed and wasted away to nothing._

_He closes his 3-fingered hand in a way that resembles himself carrying a small thing. But he recalls he still has something of_ **hers**_ left; his son.  
'Neo' is the name she gave him when he was born, calling him a gift from the heavens and the stars. But MNU called his son 'Oliver' and him 'Christopher'. She hated both names, saying it was like calling water 'wet stuff'. Their son was a gift -_Neo_- and he was, to her, the one who always brought her a feeling of joy that she had forgotten -_Kayode_.  
He suddenly sees her form -her small childlike form- appear, crouching in front of him and a look of determination is etched on her face. Her mouth does not move, but her whistling shrieks like thousands of bugs in his ears. Her dark eyes travel from him to something behind her. He understands that she wants him to get up, stop feeling so sorry, and act like a real man -go to his son and be a father._

_Tears stil fall from his face as he staggers up. He keeps his view on the crouching bundle of skin, bones, and rags, but in less than a blink she is gone. He tries to clear his head as he strides to his laughing son. His son spins around in circles, looking up at the sky.  
He holds out a hand to his son and immediately he stops, "Yes, father? What is is?"_

_He attempts to compose himself -act stronger than he feels like- but it is difficult, "Are you hungry, young one?"_

_His son nods eagerly, almost in a dumb naive nature. He takes in a deep inhale, to clear away his wet eyes and his throat. "Okay, then. Let's go."_

_They walk in what is left of the world. He notices his small son is still so eager and happy to play that he gives his son a simple task to get some water and kleids while he finds protein.  
His little son cocks his head and asks, "What are Kleids?"_

_He forgets that his son is a second generation born refugee -that he has never been on his planet before. He answers that they are little round creature with 3 spikes on their back and are very bright red. He warns his son that he must be quick with his hands if he wants to catch them, but he assures that they are completely harmless and cannot hurt him if he hurts them. He runs away back._

_This father feels confident that his son is safe; the water pond back there is very shallow -it is abundent in Kleids since they have been freely breeding for 30 years- and it is close to the mothership if something comes.  
As he continues onward, he wonders if there are any survivors left from the disease. There were 1.8 million of their kind who escaped while they left behind a good 400 000, 80% of those were on the brink of death and the 20% were surely infected. He cannot bear to think that he is all alone on this world. The pressure that all his comrades are back on Earth working as slaves and the other few who worked with him earlier 20 years ago are all dead because of the damned MNU._

_He is all by himself._

_Everything rest with him. He is the last hope of their people. The rest are stuck on Earth and they are powerless against the humans since they have developed better fire arms and have taken away theirs. It is too much to bear. He hates to think that his son will never know the true nature of their people; how advanced their kind is that they have perfected space travel and cures for nearly every known disease. His son will never know, he will always be stuck in the dark as the rest of them on Earth, never knowing true potential. He dreads the decision that they made to land on such a planet where the inhabitants are so cruel.  
But... they had no choice at the time.  
So many more of them were dying; the drones, the tristes, the sribs, even survivors of the Whole-Being O. So many deaths and yet their food and water supply was getting lower. They had to stop and get food. One by one, a member of them would go down to Earth to retreive food and the next day, 1 more would go down. But after a few months, they tore at the mothership when it was his turn and they forced each of his people out, carting them around in big tucks. They caught him, luckily he was smart to hide the ship in a ditch before they discovered him._

_He recalls every amount of abuse inflicted on him and on others. It is too horrible to let go, but the memories consume him, it is a part of him just as this planet is. He lets out a wild cry that could've shattered glass and falls to his knees._

_3 years._

_3 years is what he promised to the once human Wikus. To Wikus at the time, it must've sounded so long. But to him, it is a short deadline. He does not believe that by himself, he can find help for his people in 3 years. Truly, it will take about a human decade.  
In a way, both men suffer.  
One must wait what seems like eons to be cured, the other must work in mere moments to acheive the impossible. He thinks of his son to try and stop himself from crying. He thinks of his son playing with other children his age, working his way up the hierarchy to a position higher than his own, and finding a mate to produce stronger and better offspring. He doubts that such a thing can be so easy.  
There had been many secrets in District 9; his son had been one of them._

_Then the face of a woman with dark skin and wide brown and green eyes pops into his face. He tries to force it out but it is growing like a fungus, rooting in his brain. He bangs his fist like a child having a tantrum as the face appears to be frowning at him.  
He screams at himself, "I'm a bastard! I know that! Why am I being tortured after all these years?!! Why is it you only show yourself to me when I'm like this?!!!"_

_Something hits the ground in front of him and he concentrates on it. It is a scrawny Barrot. Its long ears drags on the ground and it's spine arches up as it screeches in a chirp at him. Slowly, he rolls up so that his back is straight and his legs comes up in a running start.  
The Barrot is a stupid one, is does not know that it is low on the food chain.  
With a gurgle and a screech, he leaps at it with alien strength and spears it with his mandrils. The barrot chirps as sharply as Earthen birds from the pain and struggles pointlessly to get away. He takes himself off of it and the thing sprints 1 foot, 2 feet, 3... only to stumble and collapse on its side. Getting up, he walks to it and swings it over his shoulder. The game here is easier than he remembers._

_He chooses to not explore and cry over the ruins of what was once great. Walking back to his son, he continues to hear little chirping sounds and clicks,_ "Is that you? Is that you? Is that you?....."  
_It goes on over and over again. He concludes that he is already so lonely and his mind is tormenting him for not bringing others with him. The sounds get louder and louder, _"Is that you? Is that you? Is that you? Is that you? Is that you? Is that you?...."

_He ignores it so desperately. The voices scratch at him, digs its salty fist into his mutilated gut and guilt tears him apart. He comes to see his son playing in the water, just as he predicts, yet a look appears on his son's face that he does not recognize. "Father. Who is your friend?"_

_He does not know what his son is talking about, he has no idea whatsoever. He turns around to a figure standing tall across from him. The figure cocks his head and ask, "Is that you?"  
He immediately drops his catch and charges at who is standing in front of him._

_He fights and punches the figure, screaming, "What do you want with me? Who are you? What are you?"  
The figure receives the abuse like his kind did from the humans. He does not fight back, but it is better to say that he canot fight back. In the midst, his son squawks out, "Stop it, father! You're hurt!"  
Hurt? He has been hurt enough. The only pain he is getting now is feeling his bony fist collide with the jaw of this creature that resembles him so. In a way, he has developed a tolerance to aches and stings, but he can still feel it so clearly._

_The bleeding and bruising figure below him answers through choking gasps, "I am Nikie 5-4! Trist 8-3! Trist 8-3! Is that you?"_

_He stops. The serial number sounds familiar to him. He stops, but holds his hands around the figure's throat. "What are you saying?" he accuses._

_"You don't remember me? I am one who served under Pog 1; I worked with you on the research for melding the computer with a brain for the battle suit 1456!"  
He remembers not the work, but the male who always bragged about mating conquests and was always eager to work; laughing whenever something exploded. He calls him by a name that he has not said in over 28 years, "Asaedayu?"_

_The figure smiles in the way his kind smiles, "Vartickes, it is you! You have returned to our world!"_

_He is more surprised to see that Asaedayu is alive instead of dead, "Why aren't you dead? The Sickness; it overtook everybody!" He helps his friend up and their arms under their ribs emerge out to shake and tickle the palms. He notices that Asaedayu's lower hands look so strong compared to his slow and trembling ones. It is understandable to him since he has not used them for 25 years.  
He takes in what his friend his wearing; the customary robe that covered their entire torso, the _sepis_ that went down the sides of his legs, but left what was between free for movement, and a long thick_ sno_ that went to his knees, covering the front and back for modesty and hygine._

_As he notices his friend's attire, Asaedayu exclaims, "What is it are you wearing? You looks worse than a begger! What has happened to you?"  
He is dejected to, but as soon as he starts to click out a respons, Asaedayu tells him to stop. "Wait, don't tell me what has happened when you left, wait till tonight to tell the others."_

_"The others?" he questions. His son runs out from the water, holding in his hand a small Kleid and he nuzzles into his father's legs._

_He answers, "Yes, there are others left, but not many of us. More than 350 000 died when you left. However, at numbers are up to about 200 000 from off-spring. I myself am already a father to 4th generation hatchlings."_

_He is shocked to hear that this engineer who is younger than him by about 15 Earth Years is already a father of 4th generatoin while he is only a father to second generation. He feels even older than he already is surprisingly to hearing the news._

_Asaedayu notices his son, "Oh, you have a young one with you! Is he yours?"_

_He nods proudly, looking athis son with such an innocence masking the genius behind._

_"Who is the mate that you have chosen to breed with?"_

_"What do you mean by that?"_

_He laughs, but this laugh is an unrecognizable sound to hear from his people. The laugh sounds full with a rounded gurgle and sharp happy clicks. He has only heard 1 or 2 clicks from his people on Earth before their laughter died away. "Years ago, many of us were wondering when you would pass on your genes, or even produce off-spring by yourself. I remember you always saying that you would never produce off-spring from yourself because you were busy enough without raising a young one -even under the most desperate times. You would need to find a mate and make sure that she was capable for passing on improved genes and child-caring. But here is a young one -your own- so I can easily assume that you have found a mate and bore children."_

_He is right. His son, after all, was an accident and he remembers_ **her** _on that day telling him that she was carrying his child. He had asked her if she was sure and if it really was his. His kind is skilled in birth control without the use of items like condoms as the humans use. It is slim for their kind -Poleepkwa- to unintentionally reproduce. Yet she had verified by the black fluid coming from out of her orifices and the fact that she had always been with him from morning to night. Most of all, he remembers how she had asked if she could have the child.  
His friend interrupts his thought by inquiring, "Is it a maternal partner of one we know?"_

_He shakes his head no, "I don't think you would know this one."_

_There seems to be a vapid look on his friend's face as his atennas jumps up and down, "Is she a second generation born? I know you never liked the ones close to our age, but I wouldn't imagine that you would go for one beyond our generation. Older maybe -but younger?"_

_He shakes his head no. "Just as you have asked me to tell you about life from when we left, tonight I will tell you the story of how this young one came to be."_

_Asaedayu laughs and rubs his head, "Very well. Tonight for dinner -where you and your young one will join us." He pauses as though trying to recall what he is planning to say, "You must've grown very strong when you were gone, you fight like a soldier, not a scientist."_

* * *

_He is shocked to see his people doing so well after 30 years._

_There is not a lot of their population left, but it is sufficient. Among them are mostly small young ones than the adults. They are thin as he is, perhaps even thinner, but they look happy. Some still have few deformities from the sickness, some have the spots from it and scars, but they look healthy enough. It is night already and a feast has been laid out to welcome his amd his son back from refuge. He wonders if he should really let them praise him. He has done nothing; they still think of him from past accomplishes that he himself have nearly forgotten.  
His son holds onto his leg, following him like a shadow everywhere._

_All he meets, greets him with exclamation and curiosity. "How was it? What was it like?" they all ask him.  
He simply replies that he will tell them all tonight. He is anxious and he is tired from the first happy meal he has eaten in a long time, he sits down at a lone spot with his son. His son sits next to him, jumping up and down, but still having an air of calm around him. He looks out to the other young ones that play together around the lights.  
He wants his shy son to go out to play with them, but his selfishnes for company holds him back from saying so._

_In the crowds of his kind, he spots one who is watching him so closely. He is unsure if someone is shoiwing interest in him or simply looking at something else. He brushes the notion that one could be interested in him away. He is sure that he is one of the oldest ones here. But as he looks back, he sees that the figure has disappeared.  
A female suddenly appears over his shy son, "The young one is so tiny -must be very young!"_

_He nudges his son to go forward, "Greet her."_

_His son shakes his head and hides behind his father, while at the same time looks longingly to the group of children still playing near the lights. He notices this and carries his son over his head to in front of him, "Go on then, play with the others." He does not mind his son leaving him now, at least he has the company of another one close by.  
His son jumps and speeds away with careful graceful steps. The female eyes him and he can feel an air of uncertainty from her._

_She suddenly declares out to him so that he can only hear in the bustling of it all, "I'm not taken yet and I have no offspring of my own. My genes are from the very best and I'm well sought after."_

_He nods his head, looking away from her. He wonders where exactly she is going with her small talk._

_"I know about you." she informs him._

_"Yes, I was well-known on this planet." he tells her. He -along with others- were so excellent in their fields, that they had been able to be printed in some of their culture's history and text books. _

_"You still are." she tells. Even when all their species look alike with hermaphrodite properties -leaning towards male than female- this one appears more female than the rest. Her thin and delicate fingers, the curve in her posture that was smooth as frozen water, and the eloquency of her words._

_"You have taken on a maternal role, right?" he asks to get the facts and questions off of him.  
She nods eagerly to his question, but her smile and bright eyes die down as he goes on speaking. "I am first generation refugee. That alone must tell you I left this planet about..... 3 and a half Spotted Moons ago. Tell me, what generation are you?"  
It is difficult for him to put time into his species terms for all he remembers are seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years. Human and the like is truly engraved in his bones and skin._

_She scoffs at him with high coos and clicks, "From that time, I am already 3 generation. Age may have mattered to where you and our kind left off to, but it does not matter here still to deny proper breeding. My mothers were 4 Half Moons apart from each other!"_

_"I am not looking for a mate." he tells her, not wanting to hurt her for offering herself to him._

_She counters him, "Your off-spring is so young, he needs a second parental figure -a maternal one and I am the right choice. Besides, it's better for a child to have a blood companion to learn how to play well with others."_

_"He is 5 Moons aged! He does not need a parental figure nor some other brat to tell him how to act or what to do!"_

_She gasps and points out, "He is so small. It is not natural. He is...."_

_He moves away from the female and adds on, "I know." He can swear that he almost heard the term 'a freak' escape from her mouth and mandibles._

_Asaedayu comes back to his side, but in his hands are clothing,  
"Vartickes, someone of your standing should not be standing around in rags like a Ninge, Here -wear these!"  
He does not take off his rags, he keeps them on because they feel to be a part of him and his son's mother. In an instant, he almost forgets how to put on the clothing of his people, but then he quickly regains the knowledge back. He pats the cloth and hide, absorbing in the scent of everything he remembers._

_Asaedayu compliments, "So aged, but still so wanted amongst our kind. You are one of our examples of a specimen worth passing on his genes."_

_He laughs, "Are you offering yourself to me?"_

_Asaedayu takes it as half joke, "Vartickes! I have 4th generation off-spring already and I have a mate! Although with you, my off-spring would be better, I am sorry to say that your off-spring would worsen. I cannot let it happen to you that way. Besides, Tedia takes good care of me in the best way a mate can." They laugh and seperate. He has missed speaking to one another this way; in words of joke and policy rather than of drunken speech. On Earth, his kind swore so vulgarly and coarse that he was almost disgusted with himself for mixing up with them. However in turn, he had become one of them. He tries to desperately to compose himself, getting intune with the air of high places an casual settings._

_Just as he plans to go off to see his son to observeif he is fitting in, a loud scream rings out. It is not a warning scream or one of danger, it is one of signal. All of his kind suddenly crowds around him and sits down. He feels nervous with the entire crowd around him and he tries to go off into the crowd to join them sitting down, but another official -A Triste- stops him to ask him to tell them about where he and the rest of their kind tok refuge.  
He is unsure of what to say. Though he has preached for non-human rights, he had never practiced telling his kind what were the conditions of living._

_He begins his story._

_He tells of how when they were first traveling, they were starting to experience syptoms that resembled the Red Sickness and feared that they had brought it with them. Most of all, from so much traveling, they were short on fuel. They would have to land and distill more fluid to produce the fluid they needed to keep going. He tells of how each day, one of them would give up half his fluid to be distilled and how it was still not enough. He tells of waiting while some were getting sicker and hungrier. They stayed up in the mothership for half a Dark Moon before the aliens -humans, they were called- cut open their ship and found them in their own waste and sickness._

_At first, the humans had cared for them, given them food and medicine and a treat called, 'Cat food'. When they were well enough, the humans would not take them back to their ship and even took away what fuel they were trying to produce, their weapons, their belongings, and whatever else they had to their name. They would not let them leave. The humans left them in a field filled with garbage and not long after that, other humans came to trade small items at unfair exotic prices and killed them for their own needs._

_The audience gasps to hear and a few young ones start wailing, though he suspects that they have no idea what is being discussed among the adults._

_He tells of how they were treated like slaves with no running water, electricity, plumbing, and rights. He recounts the details of work they forced on them and the privelages they denied. The humans had spoken to them while whipping them with weapons and sticks, yelling in strange tongues. Sin had been a part of their life and order no longer existed amongst them. A Srib that had been on the mothership was reduced to gambling and whores.  
He speaks more passionately of how the humans look at them and use them for experiements. In a fury, he tells of how they were finally able to escape Earth in the last 3 days._

_They do not understand what he means by days and he explains it is simply a very short time._

_He ends his story by telling them more about how horrible it was, yet he was helped by a human who at first was disgusted with him, then became his friend. He also tells the story of how a human being could be changed -completely altered- when touched by their fuel. His gut twists as he remmbers that he has one day less of 3 years before he must return to help his human friend. He grows nervous thinking about it._

_After he is done, most are too tired and appalled to hear the more. They are sick of it and they feel that they can only stomach it in the bright time._

_While most leave, a few stay behind. He notices that 4 or 5 are his friend and paternal figures while the rest are maternal figures.  
He asks them, "Do you still want to hear horrors that happened?"_

_They nod their heads. One speaks out, "We're curious about your off-spring. Something about him doesn't look normal." He is almost sure that Asaedayu had brought attention upon his son and the female he had rejected was to blame as well._

_"What doesn't seem right about him?" To him, his son is the perfect example of an intelligent young kind, but at the same time, he cannot deny that there is something wrong with his son. Most of all, he does not wish for everyone to think of his son so strangely._

_"He is too intense. He does not seem like a regular young one. He sounds much too aged!" they complain. He is sure that they must feel inferior that a young one's intelligence is so close to theirs. He can easily think that in a few years, his own son's mental capabilities will rival even his._

_He sighs, "Do you want to know the truth about my off-spring?"_

_They all nod. He breathes in, watching his son laughing and playing with the other young ones -so ignorant to his secret- and informs, "I'll tell you the who story about my off-spring. But you must not be shocked about him or treat him any differently. I'll tell you how it happened in the first place because you'll need to understand it and why. You cannot question until I let you or I will simply be quiet and the truth need not be revealed anymore. Here is something that happened on a distant planet called Earth a long time ago...."_

* * *

**Okay, this is a Christopher/OC fanfic. **

**I know some things must sound weird in this fanfic. But I checked out some of the movie websites and it says that they're kind are hermaphrodites, but to have them be hermaphrodites sort of ruins the aspect of romance. So I threw in a few rules of their society. Most of them -to continue on with their genes and keep it within themselves- produce eggs and off-spring themselves. But when they want an off-spring to be better than themselves, they find a mate with better genes and/or more wanted attributes. Then of course, there is the reason of love to be wanting a mate.  
Since they are hermaphrodites, they choose whether or not they want to be known as an all-being, a paternal figure, or a maternal figure. It is not strange for 2 of the same figures to produce off-spring together. **

**For names. Just for this chapter or so, I've made up 'real names' for their kind and ranks and times. I put a twist on a lot of stuff, but I will try to keep it close to the movie-verse. When it takes place on Earth, Christopher's name will be Christopher and all the Prawns will have their human names, but on this planet, they'll have their alien names. **

**If you have any questionns. Don't be afraid to put it in a review and ask.**

**Please review. **


	2. The Wind Is Talking To Me

**Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.**

**This is the real start of the fanfic. It takes place just 8 years after they land. Forgive me, but in the trailor and movies, it says that the aliens landed 28 years ago. But in the film, it just repeats that they landed 20 years ago. **

**But I'm going to stick with 28 years ago, they landed. **

**Note, this is all going to be from Christopher's view but it's written in third person. This is sort of in the past on Earth.**

* * *

_**15 years after the 'Prauns' landed on Earth**_

* * *

Christopher -as he was called by most- worked in the broiling sun of South Africa as mine worker. He could not imagine how his life spiraled downwards since he arrived. He had been someone of the highest caliber who had others at his beck and call and was treated with respect. Now he was demoted to a lowly slave who worked labour for below minimum wage.  
15 years ago, he was in a hospital ward -barely breathing and moving from a sickness that attacked his limbs and stomach- and he thought as soon as he was released, he would be able to return to the ship and try to produce more fuel. But no, they would not let him or anyone else go back up. They stranded all of them in a destitute land with nothing and expected them to survive without complaints.  
He shuddered as he remembered one of the politicians from his planet speak out for rights and better treatments. The answer they received from the 'humans' was a hole blown through their heads.

By now, they should've had enough fuel to go off to another planet and try their luck there. But it was all gone now, gone to power their weapons that the humans had stolen from their kind. He imagined it must've been pointless for them. They had designed weapons that only they could use and it served them well in war and strategy. That was why their kind was peaceful -they had prepared for war and battle. He mentally laughed at the paradox presented by their kind.

He sat next to one of the full metal carts on the tracks and thought about the ones back on his planet who were dead and dying. He was sure that they were happier -dead- than the ones who had left to find a different refuge. He wondered if it would be better if he could just rise up and go crazy to have his brains shot out. It would be a suicide wish, but he was sure that it would be easier than living in deep poverty. He blinked to get the horrific thought of dying out; he had spent 7 years now, finding fuel fluid in little bits of their trash that had been overlooked from the humans and distilling it, and he was certainly not going to let it go down in vain. Just a few more years and he and his friends would be able to leave along with others.  
Something shocked him from his valley of thoughts; a man started to yell at him in a language that he vaguely understood.

The man's dark face was light in comparison to the native residents, but the features were all there. His dark eyes surrounded by the milky white almost seemed to glow red and his wide nostrils flared out as he bared his teeth. He dressed in the usual MNU black padded uniform with weapons all around him like armor. He stood out distinctly from the other men in white and green camo. It was odd to see his black uniform caked in blood, dried and fresh. The man looked more like a serial kill or a hunter than a mere field supervisor.  
He snarled and barked out more orders.

He clicked back a response as he stumbled up from hunger and the exhaustion of working 12 hours the day before, _"I was just resting! I'm getting back to work now! Don't yell at me!"_

The man yelled out in English, "Get up! Get up right now!"  
He wanted to yell at the human for yelling at him to get up when he already was up. But he recalled someone he knew who yelled at a human for stealing his food and in the end, he was taken away into custody. Christopher -biting his tongue and mandibles- nodded and walked towards the opening where the others were working and joined them in mining out stones for a new air-way.  
A few of them stared at him and he could recognize the look from his own mirrored face. They were scared as he would've been if there was another in his position right then. They were defenseless with no way to ward off the attacks or even run -the entire perimeter was guarded.

He walked in long strides to work faster and to have the supervisor see that he was working hard, but the man followed. He roared out words and curses with a horrible voice that was neither supportive or kind and he would stab the end of his gun into Christopher every few steps. His back was aching and he was sure that the rounded barrel marks were dug into him. As he went in deeper into the tunnel and picked up large bolders. As Christopher lugged a heavy boulder to the cart, the supervisor thrust his gun at him, causing him to crash into the wall.  
The impact was harder than it seemed and he gave a small shriek.  
He looked up to see the supervisor smirking so proudly at him and then leaving him. So horrible; they were so horrible. How could they find enjoyment in causing pain to others? The heavy clacks of the supervisor's boots died away to a ghostly echo and each one of them were still while the carts were still going.

When they could tell that the supervisor was well out of view, a few of them jumped from their spots to his side. they clicked out questions of sympathy, _"Are you okay? Does your head hurt? Is anything broken?"_

He nodded and shook his head and got up with the help of a tiger-coloured non-human who wore something like long skirt at his side, "_Thank you, Bieki_."

If expression could be imagined on a praun's face, the one who helped him was doing a good job of it. A look of confusion was on his face, later washed away like water by realization. Said non-human reminded him, _"On this planet, you are Christpher just as I am Thomas. We.... We must not speak our names in front of the humans. They won't allow it, they'll beat us again for it."_

Christopher's hand went to his back, feeling the ridges of his outer plate and spine. It stung like someone had pressed hot coals onto them.  
_"Yes, thanks for reminding me...."_ he hesitated -trying to remember the English name of his friend_, "Thomas."_

_"No problem, Christopher. In this world without order, we still have to remember to be.... nice."_  
He couldn't believe how Thomas had adapted so quickly to life on Earth. He was the first one to understand and convey the rules the rest of them and he was the first one to remember all the english names while they were still struggling to remember their own. All continued to work the mindless tasks.

As he wheeled and pushed the full heavy cart on the tracks to make more space for more coming carts, he heard a loud crash and hushed cursing. The sounds of it were harsh and sharp like a whip bouncing off stone or bone, then trailing over gravel. It was strange how the sounds continued for some time, there were so many guars and supervisors around, so why wasn't it stopped?  
From his never-dying curiosity, he stopped to see what was happening.  
Christopher tip-toed as quietly as he could, his mandibles clicking like falling pebbles, and followed the growing sounds of brutality. It was almost hard to find it in the maze-like mountains and fields. He heard the crashing and yelling get louder as he looked into a small ditch.

His eyes almost widened at what he saw was conspiring between humans. He saw a group of 3 hooded men who smelled awful and looked to be of bad character. They looked like the gang members of some of the warlords and arms dealer around District 9. He studied the picture in front of him. There was a small dark-skinned woman amongst the ruffians. All 3 of them were beating her and spitting on her, but she simply crouched and took their punishment.  
He wondered why she didn't scream.  
If she started screaming, help would be coming just as he had come to investigate the noise. He could see her mouth opening and closing, breathing like a fish, but no sound came out. He pondered if the woman was a girlfriend or a sister to one of them.

It wasn't his business to interfere.  
If anything, the MNU who took care of his people and the slums they lived in -District 9- forbade them from interfering with humans and their affairs. He was about to get back to work -before the supervisor came after him and beat him again, worst if the human decided to kill him- but something suddenly caught his attention again. His eyes met with the woman's and he felt something strange in having a human look him straight in the eyes with something different aside from hostility and hate. Something in her expression begged him to stop them and save her.  
_'I wish I could help, but what can I do?'_ he thought to himself.  
He couldn't help her and even getting help was beyond his abilities. he clicked his mandibles and turned away, yet another thing of this woman stopped him.

She whistled.

She whistled a high pitched unwavering whistle as the men were beating her and punching her in her ribs. He went back to see what she was whistling about and another sound of clicking welcomed his ears. From the clicks and brief whistles, he understood as though one of his kind was speaking to him, _"Help me."_

He had always felt disgust for humans, but seeing her so vulnerable and defenseless without even screaming had him thinking. He frantically thought of how could he save her. In almost every scenario that he thought up in his advanced alien mind, it resulted in him getting in trouble and beaten -even going so far as to be taken away and killed.  
The same clicks and whistles came again from her and for a few brief moments, he actually thought that one of his own was the one getting attacked, _"Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me...."_  
He couldn't go close to humans, not even the scum of them. Looking to the ground, he picked up rocks. The humans below paid no attention to him at all, they didn't even realize he was standing so close -casting a long sombre shadow over their forms. He gulped as he reeled his arm back. As soon as the first rock would leave his hand, it woud be all over and there would be no going back.

Even if it didn't hit any of them, it would all be over and he would surely be dead.  
He meditated whether or not it would be the best choice to do; save a human by injuring another human. At long last, a sound came from the small human woman. She fell to the ground and hissed out a long strained sound. It reminded him of the pipes at the factories he worked on some weeks when the pressure from water would be too much and it would escape by the small holes at the tip of the cylinder pipes in steam.  
Without even realizing what had just occured in his brain, the stone left his hand and was on its way to one of their heads. He stepped forward, as though he thought he could draw it back by wishing hard and staring at it but it was futile.

In one split second, it had left his hand. In a moment, it was traveling for their heads. In less than a second, it hit one of the men with a sickening crack. Christopher leapt back behind a stone wall and pressed himself as close as he could. His tall form crumpled up and slid down against the rough stone. He tucked his long legs to his chest and carefully watched from the corner of his eye. He could see that the one was drooling and his face was twisted in distortions. His dark face actually had a raging red tinge to it and fear struck him deep down in his core.  
The gang member walked a few steps out of the ditch -Christopher hoped that he wouldn't find him- and his nose twitched as though he was smelling the air. "Bitch! Come out and fight like a man! I'll kill you! I'lll fucking kill you, you motherfucker!" came a bellowing order.

His mandibles clicked in tune with the cocking of the man's gun.  
Oh...  
Oh...  
He simply helped another and he was going to die for it. He wasn't even sure if the woman was alive at this point. He could hear the steps coming closer and closer..... closer....... closer....... He had heard of situation such as these where someone would pray for mercy or even to one called God and they would actually be spared. Just from seeing and hearing about so many superstitions to save lives, his fingers clasped over each other and he started wishing that whoever was coming to kill him would leave him alone or be killed back after taking his life. In the midst of his prayer, he hoped that the woman had at least gotten away and understood that he had good intentions towards her.

He could practically smell the man's presence right next to him and his eyes shifted to the right of him. THe man's tattered nike shoes were right next to him, his eyes moved up to see patched up and ragged grey jeans, then to the pockets of the hoodie, then the gun's barrel.  
He clicked out a questioning sound.  
The man started snickering, "Get ready to die, you dirty fucking prawn."

He closed his eyes and his hands fell to his side; it was all over. His life of 140 human years was about to be over. He still had so much to look forward too. He still had so many years till the age of 400 human years. He still had yet to go home. But.... he had threw all those chances and years away for...... a human woman who was mostly likely dead.

The man in front of him paid no attention the order and pushed it against Christopher, the cold steel on his hot plates. He sneered out once more, "Motherfucker, you're dead."

A shot was blasted out and he closed his eyes shut from the shock of hearing such a loud sound.

Yet, he felt no pain. He felt no blood oozing down his body. He hesitantly opened up his eyes to see the same man standing right in front of him, but he was convulsing like a snake had bit him. _Drip.....  
Drip...._  
Came those little sounds and right away he scanned his head and chest for a bullet hole. There were no injuries of any kind and finally he looked to the still shaking man in front of him. The dripping sounds were coming from him. As soon as the discovery came to him, the man collapsed on his side and was motionless. He did not move. He did not swear and curse. He did not even breathe.  
He was dead.

There came the rising sounds of an alert siren and thinking that he had already been in a lot of trouble, Christopher ran off to get back to work. He supposed that some of the automatic machine guns that were now attached to the speakers and cameras had accidently fired at the human instead of him. Or the guards were playing guns again and had aimed for some blank spot, only to hit him instead. Or perhaps his gun had malfuctioned and shot back at him. He didn't spend anymore time thinking up the reason for his survival and sprung away. His frantic clicking and leaps got him back to the mining in a few short minutes.  
Some of the non-humans who were still working as though nothing had happened told him as soon as he arrived, _"Don't worry. We didn't see nothing. We heard nothing. So we're not going to say anything. Just... just pretend that nothing happened."_

He nodded his head and he hoped that the idea of pretending that nothing happened would work out. It woud've been impossible since the blast of the bullet had echoed so loud and virtually shook the whole terrain. He didn't want any of the supervisors to see him or have anything linked to him and decided to go deeper to avoid whatever might be coming. He sprinted deep into the stone mines and nervously picked up the stones in the darkness on his way. The other prauns with him barely acknowledged his presence and practically ignored him.  
The only sounds in the cavern were the grunts of the workers, the stones falling to the ground, and the squeaking of the rust metal wheels of the carts. His hearts were stilll beating and his antennas whipped off his forehead.

There was an excitement remaining in helping that human, but it scared him. The addiction to adrenaline did exist to his kind and it often led to executions and banishment. He imagined if the plan were to actually go through, would the feeling be better and worse? He was actually still breathing hard and his antennas twitched violently, still recalling each second of how the sudden feeling of what was pressed against his hand just leaving instantly.  
Most of all, the vivid sounds of the whistling rang deafly in his ears. He could still hear it as though she had been screaming. But he then imagined it not as a scream for help, but more like a bell. That was how clear it had been, it was like the crystal like bell that rang in the morning every day to tell each of them to wake up. He sighed as he remembered the look that he had seen from her; a look that asked -not ordered or demanded- for help. From him of all.

The thought of her eyes looking into his somehow made his work more bearable than usual and the day seemed to pass all too quickly with not a single supervisor coming by for questioning luckily.

* * *

Work was over for the day at about an hour before curfew. The skies that were always seen to be blue and orange streaked with red in the late afternoon were now dark as coal with small points of lights. The guards blended in with the shadows that a few had bumped into them. The humans erupted in a fury of swearing and menacing threats.

Each non-human boarded the rickety and rusty bus one by one, checking off their names off the list at the front as they did so.  
The bus was low for their tall heights and the seats were torn with the plastic cutting into them whenever they sat. There were bars and fences on the windows and it was like they were being taken into jail rather than going home.  
Christopher felt nervous as he passed the bus driver behind the caged wall and the driver appeared to be glaring at him. His brows were furrowed together like it could be one and his mouth was turned to be an arch. He pondered if guilt and stress could be see on his face.

He chose to sit in the back for that day and his request for a seat was accepted by a thin non-human.

This non-human was given the name of Sara Paige with her curving torso and soft navy colour plates. She didn't look so masculine with rags of cloth covering the area betwen her legs and a sort of ragged sash going across her chest, it was mostly size that resulted in having everyone think of her as a girl. Sara had experienced a brief humiliation and detest when she was assigned the womanly name by MNU for on the home-planet, Sara had been a soldier and took on a paternal role rather than a maternal role.  
At first the rest of them had teased her about the sudden gender change and name, but that changed when Sara had sucker-punched each other them -still reminding the rest of them about her brute strength that had served her well on their home planet. All of them still thought of the once manly soldier as a woman, but they still treated her as equally as they would a paternal figure.

The bus rides were always quiet since the MNU were always monitoring any of their activity and conversations. Any word of anything cuold be misinterpreted as rebellion and anyone could die. They were considered lucky if they were just detained for a month and released back into the slums.  
Christopher -just having the urge- asked Sara discreetly, _"Can I switch sides with you?" _

Sara inquired first, _"What for? There's nothing to see out there and bars are all in the way. It's safer to just stay in our seats. The guards could think that we're planning an escape."_

Sara was the least trusting of them all, ready to get rid of any trouble-makers she saw that could jeopardize any of them. She would rather report them to the MNU herself than keep them around and have investigations done around them.  
She had killed 3 humans before simply because they got on her nerves -calling her names and scum and trying to steal from her- and she was able get away scot-free by placing the MNU's attentions on another one of them that had been wreaking havoc all around by going out after curfew and scaring some of the townspeople. When all had asked her why she had done that to one of them, she simply answered, _"All of us would've been in trouble because of him. It's better that it was him instead of all of us. Besides, he probably would've spoiled any of our future plans."_  
She was cunning.

He also knew that it was often hard to get what one wanted from Sara. Still, he was persistent in asking and trying to persuade her to let him sit at the window for the day. Each of his requests were denied with a simple, _"No."_  
Finally, he offered her, "_I'll buy you dinner tonight for the seat."_

A look of excitement grew on her face and she actually looked happy for once, _"Cat food?" _

He sat back against the scratchy seat, _"Sorry, I don't have enough for that today. I'll get you beef."_ His tone rose up to the point that one could interpretate him as hopeful.

There was a pause for a few seconds then she bent low in her seat, _"Okay, fine. All for switching seats. Keep acting like this more often and you'll run out of money."_

He bent his legs up high onto the chair as she slid off the seat. She moved on the outside of him -making absolutely no sound with her nimble feet- and rose back up to sit, pushing him to where she had been moments ago.  
_"Thanks."_ he clicked to her.

_"It's fine. Just don't forget to buy me something to eat when we get back."_ she reminded him with a sort of wit under the voice of exasperation.

He smiled in a way that their kind would smile and turned to look at the window. He gazed through the thick steel bars and thought whimsically. His thoughts wandered back to the female that had been beaten so cruelly, but did not utter a sound. He could only remember her expression. He wasn't even sure if she had gotten away. He hoped that she did. He hoped that she was safe. As he looked outside, he saw some people were still out, surprisingly. It was strange to see peope who were still out before their curfew. Most were frightened of them to even dare to come out, seeing the actions that they had done to simply survive before they were completely isolated.  
It was strange -to him as he tried to get his head straight- how he couldn't even remember the woman's face when he found himself always thinking about her situation. Yet in lieu of the lack of identity for this ghost, he imagined a woman with a dark complexion and a small stature. He imagined that it was her who was standing outside in the fields and markets with a basket on the top of her head, looking at the bus with a curious expression instead of one that was fearful.

The bus drove closer to District 9 and a few people were still out. Their face widened and turned longer with open mouths and they ran away from the bus. Through the metal of the bus, he could hear screams and cursing.  
The bus drove just a few yards into the area only to stop in a wide space with trash all around. The sight was not enough, but the smell was awful with fungus and what not hanging off of everything. The bus driver stayed behind his wired cage and spoke out with a stern voice, "Every non-human is to go out and receive your pay by the truck behind. You will calmly go purchase whatever food you want within District 9 then go straight to your homes. You will not be alowed to leave until the morning. Get off right now in a calm orderly fashion!"

All got up from their seats, the creaking increased, and they walked as though they were the living-dead. Christopher was the last one to leave from his seat and the smell of rot and compost suffocated him. Even after 15 years, the smell bothered him greatly.  
They all walked in a straight line, one after the other, to an officer who was standing outside the door of the truck. The man's face was barely seen under his helmet and the dim light of the stars. He looked almost faceless. A small clatter of coins could be heard falling into the plated hide of their hands. The line moved all too quickly. The pay for an entire day was a small 35 Rand that could pay for just one supper and a small jug of water.

As soon as he saw all the coins fall into his cupped hands, he felt a tug at his side. He walked away from the officer with his pay in his hand and saw who it was who was tapping his shoulder. It was Sara.  
_"Don't forget that you promised to buy me dinner."_ she reminded with impatient clicks.

He nodded and the 2 of them walked side by side to the butcher's corner.  
The butcher smiled at the prauns who were coming to buy their final meal for the day, his teeth shining white as silver, "Ahh.... Good customors! What'll you be having tonight!"

Sara clicked out a response, _"Half the ribs!"_

The butcher laughed, "Excellent choice. No cat food?"

Sara looked to him, asking, _"Can I get it?"_

Christopher considered what he was already paying for. Ribs were a pretty pricey part to buy but it wasn't totally expensive. While he was calculating, the butcher's hollow voice enthusiastically asked over and over, "C'mon, why don't you buy some catfood? It's so good, why don't you buy some? Don't you like it?...."

He wavered his hand in front of him,_ "No cat food. Ribs."_ He held out a hand that contained 21 Rand and asked it if was enough.

The butcher took one look and asked, "10 more and that'll be enough." He paid it, looking regretfully at the money he gave away. The butcher cut the ribs in half with just one sweep of his axe. He picked up the broken red and white meat off the dirty fly-infested board, handing it over to him. He pointed over to Sara who took it with the greatest interest. The butcher laughed again and again as she almost carressed the piece of meat, "Oh, buying for your girlfriend, huh?"

A murderous glint shone from Sara's golden eyes, but she laughed a dry laugh with the look glowing so intensely. Christopher wished the man could consider how lucky he was for escaping the wrath of this famous warrior. They went off and Sara -suddenly showing off her feminine side to her gender- asked, _"What are you going to eat tonight?"_

They stopped at a sort of crossroad. He answered quickly, wanting to go back to his shack to just lie down and rest,_ "I still have some bones and meat from yesterday. I'll finish that off."  
_He turned around and headed for home when he overheard the chirping of Sara, _"Thanks for dinner tonight!"_ He turned over his shoulder and waved his hand back. He mentally hoped that the meat hadn't gone too bad.

For the entire day, he recounted that about 95% of his thoughts had turned to the simply gaze and whistle of the human female. The female plagued his mind endlessly. He couldn't believe that for a dead woman (he assumed), she would have such a possession over him.  
Everyone made a rule to walk at a moderate speed. Going fast, even if you would be late for curfew, was risky since it would bring the most attention and concern as to why one of them should be in such a hurry. Walking leisurely was equally bad and stupid since you would waste more time.  
His strides were longer though, for he wanted to come home and just feel safe beneathe the sheets of scrap metal and dead wood. A few others who were eager to get home or who had been in District 9 all day instead of working passed by him, bumping and almost knocking him to his knees. Most of them ignored him while one or 2 of them clicked out, _"Hey!"_

He didn't really believe in fighting and just brushed it off. He was glad that his house wasn't so far into the District and gently pushed back to door open. The door moved with a whimpering _squeeek._ He stepped into the dirty ground of his home -reaching back and closing the door- and looked up to find the piece of meat that he left had flies buzzing all around it like moons around a planet. He couldn't totally tell about the colour of it in the white moonlight from the small window close to the top of his ceiling.  
In his small shack, he had no electricity as the others did in the slums of District 9, but he and the others still found a way to produce light with candles they bought with no choice and finding batteries and old flashlights in the dumps or on the streets.

After bringing the piece of meat down, his hand immediately went to a corner of the one room hut and pulled out a long lamp with bars over the bulb from under a pile of boxes and things from the garbage and kept from the interest of it. He switched a small tab at the top of it and the entire hut was filled with light. He thanked fate and the spirits for letting humans be able to create industrial-strength products. He sat in the middle of the one room hut and ate noisily into the bone of meat. It was on the verge of rot, but it still had some nutritional value, so he didn't care. If he caught something from it, he was sure it would go away after a few days or weeks of suffering.

He looked around at all the screens that adorned his walls like black window tanks and thought of one thing, _'I need to find a better way to get internet without the MNU's help_.' Few bits of the meat fell on his long legs and in his lap, that he scooped up with cupped fingers and slobbered all over it in a beast-like hunger. The thoughts of the woman were blown away by wishes of cat-food. He wished that he had savoured the treat of it longer instead of finding himself at the mercy of the bitter salty taste.  
He eagerly looked forward to tomorrow -Sunday- and hoped that tomorrow in the garbage would bring better prospects to the mission to find more fuel. Distilling it was much too slow and finding it was faster to collect but longer to find. Still, it was much better than cutting one self and leaving the blood in the sun for long periods of time that could've stretched into a century.

His sloppy chewing slowed down to a muffled gulping as he looked up to the top of his hut. He could hear through the walls; the sounds of prauns cheering over illegal gambling matches, the human prostitutes that had been sold to them for an hour a night, the sobbing of little young ones and their mothers.  
Silence was the norm, so it didn't usually count.  
Most of all, in the gaps of the symphony of torment and life, the wind blew so hard through the huts that he could feel it enter his like a snake slithering in and he could hear the hut creak as it leaned.

_'The wind is talking to me.'_ he sighed to himself -from the flow of the moment or the sad realization that night was always so lonely- he didn't know. He continued to eat again when the wind stopped and the warmth from the bright light filled his nerves.

_'The wind is talking to me.'_ the thought itself was crazy but it kept him sane.

* * *

**That was second chapter. I hoped you like it. It gets better in the next chapter.**

**Please review.**


	3. Unnamed

**Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.**

**Thank you all for your alerts, favorites, and reviews! I really appreciate it and I always felt so touched to see something in my inbox for this fanfic. I love you all! Thank you so much!**

**Also, thanks Sabaa for editing and beta-ing. Yay Sabaa!!!**

**Thanks to Bellskie for a helpful answer that aided me in deciding an important decision to the fanfic. **

* * *

The morning sun woke him as the light filtered through a small window and some cracks above him. The screeching of the morning alarms startled him into full awareness.  
He stayed motionless against the cold tin wall of his shack and did not stir, though the sounds scratched his ears. The brown-stained newspapers and small scraps of the thinnest of rag blanketed him, but it was still not enough for him to be comfortable. His legs were bent up stiffly against the small crate that served as both a table and chair. All the while, his long spindly arms hugged around his attenuated form. Fatigue pinched at his eyes and begged him to keep the leather-like hide over them closed. The desire to just spend the day sleeping and still interested him greatly like water in the desert, but the thought of home in space motivated him to push himself.

He brought his knees closer to his chest and pushed them out that it hurt when he stretched; his thin ligaments expanding and feeling like it was going to rip. He trilled in pain and tiredly pushed himself up from the thin strip of cardboard that was his matress. He looked around the room as he tried to regain full consciousness. The pink and white bones from last night and the nights before lay scattered on the floor, small rags of clothing were thrown in the corner, a bit of meat that he had found too rotten to eat was hounded and covered by black flies in a lone spot on the floor, thick wires danced along the floors like drizzling swirls of black blood, and the hand-held lamp leaned against a tin box.  
The entire place was a mess as he always saw it and left it. It was perhaps better that way; the secret he kept under his home and a few others was well kept under the debris.

Christopher stretched as high as he could; his spine growing longer by the second and his hands running over the ceiling. His wide mouth opened in an exhausted yawn and the air tasted of compost on his sandy tongue. He quickly closed it and rubbed his head as he approached the wooden door. It creaked and whined as he pulled it against the dusty ground. Opening the door brought him new sensations for the morning and the outside. The entire District was bathed in light and he immedately felt warmer stepping out.  
The yellow sunlight kissed his chilling hide and the bony ridges of his face, but stung at his familiar-with-the-dark eyes. He squinted and blinked a few times before the ache and blurred vision passed over. A few clicks of air escaped from his mandibles and he closed the door behind him.

As usual -on every Sunday- a few of the prawns were out scavaging through garbage while a few more were just running around senselessly.  
_"Over here!"_ came a voice that called his attenitons over to a small mount of trash.

He strode in long steps over to get the feeling of rigor off of his legs and joints. _"Uh... Mike! You're already looking."_ he stated to just get his lazy jaw re-working again.

Mike -Mike Meyers- had been an esteemed chemist, even more prominent than Christpher himself in his field of engineering. His hide plates were a dark ebony with small spot of white on his shoulders and his thighs. Mike was even older than Chistopher, but still seemed more youthful by his optimistic personality and his virile speed. He wore a shredded sort of poncho that was held together by red duct tape while he wore abslutely nothing on the lower half of his body. Christopher had always felt embarrassed without anything covering up for modesty, but Mike offered an argument, saying that there wasn't really anything that could be seen with their pelvic plates hiding their genitals.

He picked up a small cube-like thing that had wires coming in and out of it like the rings of serpents in water. Picking it up and shaking it close to his head, he flicked it away with no care about where it would land.  
_"I've been here since first ring. The others should be here later on in the day. Didn't get much sleep anyway. Too happy to sleep. Won about 50 Rand last night on the fights. Going to celebrate tonight with beer and cat food."_ he stated without once looking at Christopher while he was digging through the garbage.

Christopher didn't bother to ask if he could have a can. Helping each other out by keeping the agents of the MNU away was the most they could do for each other. Anything else that could cost them money, cat food, or lives should not even be asked for, but left to deal with one's self.  
A small amount of salivating drool came from the thought of imagining what a can of cat food must taste like when one was at his hungriest. He slapped his hand to get the thought away from him and climbed up the hill of metal and other things beyond recognizable measures to start looking.

He chose a small area, picking up what was on top and carefully examining it to see what it was and if it had any uses. Whatever he didn't like or saw it had no use, he tossed it hard and as far away as possible from him. Though on the rare instances where something looked amusing enough for him, he would toss it to the base of the trash pile and hoped to remember it for when he was done for the day. Some of the things he picked up were little water-bottles cracked in half with something yellow hanging onto the sides and cans with piercing holes in them. He tossed those away without even a second look.  
He found half a keyboard. It was interesting, but it seemed too obsolete for him.

His sore feet and padded toes were not intended for the brutality of the life of walking forever in garbage, but luckily prawn were creatures of quick adaptation with their determination, endurance, and advanced mental capabilities.  
Every day -mostly Sunday- seemed impossible to find even a drop of fuel. The MNUs had been too quick to take away everything from them; their clothes, their substances, their works, their weapons, even any parts of their ships that were not attached to their mother ship. He could not recount the many times that he had to rebuild an alien aircraft part with primative human things that he had found in cesspools and dumps.  
They had been too unfair, inconsiderate to all and wanting only slaves to do what no one else would dare or want to do.

Christopher dug his 3 fingered hands into the garbage, almost uncaring what part of what cut into the flesh between his hand plates. He jumped from place to place, burrowing through whatever was at his feet on the ground. As he picked the garbage and jumped deeper and deeper into the mounds of garbage, he soon found himself getting closer and closer to the gates that just curved into the town of Johannesburg.  
He perked his earthy face up to the fence and noticed that no one but peddlers and gangsters dressed in ghetto were strutting the streets. He resumed his work again, paying no attention to the outside work on the other side of the fence.

He dug deep until in the mounds until all that he reached was a brown gooey surface. He jumped away from the spot, keeping his golden eyes on it like something might explode or burst forth from it. He decided that he would be back to dig through the muddiness of it. He could endure almost anything, but an experience involving mud turned him wary of digging through it eagerly. He still felt like gagging whenever the memory came back to him. As he picked up a round piece of trash that a hole through it as though it had been blasted, he stood up to get a better listen to what its contents could be.  
Standing up, he saw something from the corner of his eyes, the bony ridges and spikes obscuring the view.

He turned around slowly to see what it was that suddenly caught his attention so. On the other side of the fence was a woman. She looked normal, more on the plump side than thin. Her arms stood out bare from under the white baggy shirt that she wore and the skirt caressed her waist where it was tightly knotted. The native woman wore thin sandals that could barely be seen under her wide feet and her hair was completely covered by a green kerchief that wrapped so tightly around her head, she looked bald.

She looked at him with frowning eyes, but not a single sound came from her pursed up lips.  
_'Is that the woman from yesterday?'_ he pondered as the object just dropped from his hand. Christopher still couldn't recall her face and solely depended on the chance that she would recognize him rather than the other way around. He straightened up his back and hesitantly came closer to the fence. He wondered if now that she had a better look at him up close, would she scream this time?  
His feet were so close to the fence and his clawed hands closed over the open link fence.

The woman took a step back, her pink and black hands jumping to her mouth like she had realized she swallowed the wrong thing.

His eyes went wide and he shook his head, _"No, no. I'm not going to hurt you. Do you remember me from yesterday?"_

Her lips opened slight and quivered like the air over fire. Her lips stretched to a great long length and a loud high-pitched scream emitted from her wide mouth. He wavered back, suddenly shocked from the surprising reaction. In the rustling of the thick clothing she wore, she stormed away with pattering footsteps on the dusty pavement. His antennas drooped in a way and a look of fury rolled from his face.  
He had spent almost all day yesterday worrying about the woman and that was how she repaid him; screaming away as soon as she saw him. A feeling of insult burned at his insides and he kept his gaze to the trash at his feet. There would be no need to expect her to come back, none at all. A few clicks that almost carried a hint of raw passion sounded from him and his hands thrusted into the trash like they were spears going into a body.

He decided to fully expel the thought of her safety away from him. At the very least, she seemed to be safe and unharmed. The thought didn't make it glad as he thought it would have.

* * *

The sun that had merely been hovering above the hills in the morning were right above their heads. Its lingering rays shone so brightly that Christopher always kept his head down, rather than look up for anything. The metals he touched were warm as the light cooked it and the plastics bubbled ever so slightly. A low humming filled his ears like water and every so often he would slap the side of his head when it felt the silence had gotten almost too deafening.  
As always, he and his friend searched endlessly that morning without even stopping for a drink or a morsel of food. Well, if they were hungry, the trash had few prospects for nourishment and satisfying the tongue.

As he jumped to another spot -the thin wrinkled papers flying as he tossed them up like confetti- a small part of his ragged clothes ripped. He tore it off, not caring all that much. It didn't matter. The strips of cloth that he wrapped around his legs were getting dirtier and he thought to replace it with something else he could either steal or find in the garbage. He sat back for a second to catch his breath from working in the cruel blistering sun. The garbage rang out with a brassy clang as his weight pushed against it. He looked upon his clothes and started to plan out what he should get for his next set of clothing. The set that he was wearing was already getting smaller and felt more greasy than ever. The dark red rags covered his shoulders and his wrists, leaving his chest bare and open, and the dusty black wrapped around his thighs and covered his modesty. He definitely needed to find clothes when he was less busy -more likely when somebody threw out something sturdier than what he had.

He felt that the 1 minute sit down was long enough to breathe and got back to looking and scavaging.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.

Look.

Toss.

Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.  
Dig.

Look.

Toss.  
The cycle went on for a few more hours.

Just then, a whistling sound caught his attention. He knew for sure that it couldn't have been a bird for the non-humans had developed a taste for the winged creatures when they were starving. It sounded almost like the wolf whistles that he recalled the worker me giving to the women who wore high skirts and low shirts. He turned around, yet saw nobody. The whistling sounded off again like a siren along with slow deep clicks. He looked all around; still nothing was out of the ordinary. The whistling started out at a loud sound, but then built up to a high pitched screech like nails across a rail. He squinted his eyes to compromise the sound and followed to where it was coming from. He found where it was.

Someone stood across from him on the other side of the fence.

A young woman appeared there again. She didn't look all that different from the women he had seen in this town and the woman who had screamed at seeing him earlier; her form was typical -not too fat, not too thin- however her hair was a complete black mess with locks and strands going in nearly all directions. He assumed that it would've hidden her child-like heart-shaped face away from the entire world and light if she hadn't pulled the hair back with a rainbow-coloured bandana at the top of her forehead; the large bunched knot of it right above her ear.  
He was flabberghasted to see that this woman could stand so long and so still for him to really observe her characteristics.  
Her eyes were wide and almond shaped with the whites of them distinctly seperating the dark complexion of her skin and her strange chocolate brown-mixed-emerald eyes. She wore a green dress that looked more like a robe than the usual wear for the commen women; a high sash rested between the swell of her small breasts and hips. Her dress had vertical stripes all along it with orange and golden patterns of safari animals. She didn't wear sandals or heels -instead she wore something that was expected almost of a child; comfy flat shoes.  
He noticed her dark arms were practically bare -from adornment as most women wore to downplay some of their poverty and low social-standing- with the billowy sleeves stopping at mid arm and she clutched a large paper bag to her chest.

The woman could've been easily called and seen as plain, but the eccentric style of her dress and queer expression in her eyes made her seem mysterious and almost beautiful.

He cocked his head and asked,_ "Aren't you scared of me? Aren't you afraid that I'm going to hurt you -kill you? Why don't you run and scream? Isn't that what all you humans think of us?"_  
She smiled, her full lips curving up into a crescent moon. Her mouth pursed together and out came a high whistle. She whistled little sounds and her tongue clicked against her white teeth.  
He actually backed away from the human; wigged out by the strange display of spoken language. He wondered if she was teasing him or mocking him or possibly dumb that way.  
"_Go away, I don't understand you." _he clicked as his eyes traveled back and froth between her odd gaze and the trash.

She stood still, her brows furrowed together like she was angry at him._ 'Good, let her be angry.'_ he thought to himself_, 'I have nothing to worry about her.'_ She walked long steps to the fence, her fingertips twisting into it just as he did earlier -whistling and clicking in the same pattern she did before. Albeit, this time he understood one thing from her pattern of speech._ "No."_

There was a look of determination on her face. She opened her mouth wide and he could see her pink tongue bouncing up and down from the roof of her mouth. He was shocked. She spoke their language. Well, she didn't speak it exactly; it sounded almost like baby words to him, but he could still make sense of it. He understood it as if one of them had their tongue removed and their jaw was disconnected. It was almost funny listening to her imitating their accent and words.  
Even with her dark ashy skin, he could almost see that tinges of blue and red were spreading through her cheeks and forehead. He supposed that if she kept up with what she was doing, she would just faint and drop on the streets. As much as he appreciated that effort to try and speak the alien language, it was difficult to understand her because the clicks were atrociously wrong and too slow to easily comprehend.  
He dropped the thing in his hand and stopped her, _"Quiet. Just stop. Let me help you with this."_  
He moved so that they were practically chest to chest. He bent lower to her level with his antennas poking through the chain links. Her eyes widened in shock, Christopher shook his head and coerced, _"No, no. Just stand still -relax. It's okay."_  
His antennas danced and tangled around her messy hair. He closed his eyes and concentrated; focused his mind into hers.

The experiment -aside from purely picking up what their kind thought of the English language- was what helped break down the language barriers between the humans and the non-humans. They could understand the humans when some of them trusted them enough to stand close and long enough.  
Yet, what of the humans?  
It was only one scientist for languages who stepped forward to try and create a code for their language. It wasn't that hard to understand and see the differences between the strokes of their writing, or even hear the slightly lower and higher clicks and buzzing. However, one non-human and that human met together in a lab room where they practically merged minds. It was painless. It was easy. It simply required patience and perhaps a day or so for all the information about both languages to sink into their brains. From then on, with the information from that non-human, he could share all he learned with the others.  
While the human -lacking the psychic abilities- created the system that would help humans be able to communiciate, if not understand.  
It would've been easier and cheaper for all humans to simply meet up with one of them and learn from each other; but what were the chances that the blasted humans would actually believe that they could handle being alone in a room with about 10 non-humans without paranoia taking over before they could learn anything. Thus, the people had resorted to either merely communicating -for what human could possibly keep up with their quick clicks and sounds?- and using signs or simply staying away and having absolutely nothing to do with them.

The woman was patient enough, but soon a look of discomfort grew on her face. She shook her head, her hair flying in all direction and even looking like it was growing bigger. She set the bag that was in her arms down at the base of the fence and from it -she pulled out a blue coloured can of cat food. Christopher's eyes went big at the sight. It seemed that she could tell as well.  
Placing the can back in the bag, she produced from behind her a notebook that was small yet had obscenely large metal spirals traveling through the top of it. She held it out immediately to him like she had already rehearsed what she was planning to say and how.  
In scrawled letters that slanted to a side and stuck together in some parts, he was still able to read it as;

**I am the one from yesterday.**

He looked at the note that was held against the fence down to the top of the head of the little woman who held it.  
_"That was you?"_ he asked with quizzling clicks. A feeling came into his chest and attacked all 3 of his hearts; he was soothed at the thought that it was she instead of the woman he saw when he first started working. Yet he wondered if she had came all this way to thank him, why didn't she come early instead of waiting till much after noon?

She nodded and turned to another page that was yellow with stains;

**Thank you.**

He felt almost guilty.  
Not at the fact that he had thought bad thoughts about the said woman whom he had no idea was this charming and polite, but at the fact that during her little display of gratitude, he couldn't keep his eyes or his attention off of the bag of cat food that layed on the ground right in front of his feet -a barrier of metal seperating him from it. He knew for sure that there was at least one can of catfood in there and it was enough to turn his cultivated mind to mush. He should've kept his attention focused on her and her gratitude, yet he found the cat food and even the idea that there were more than 1 in the bag proved to be of greater attraction. He supposed that he could've acted just as barbaric as some of them and made an attempt to try and grab it, but then again.... she had come to thank him, not even acting like the anti-nonhumanists that vastly populated the streets and town. He desperately held himself straight, fighting the urge to roar and grab the cat food.  
The woman in front of him produced another object from behind her back; a thin marker. She plucked off the cap and popped into her mouth like it could've been a fine cigar. Her wrist moved wide and violently on the paper that he was sure her speedy writing wouldn't even look like writing. In what appeared to be her scribbling, she wrote in the consistent hand-writing she did.

**Wait. I will be inside.**

Before he could even answer to it, she had already dropped the marker -capless- and the notebook into the wrinkled brown bag of catfood and ran away from him. He had wanted to tell her that it would've been better if she had simply slipped the cans though the fence for him or threw it over. He knew that it meant big trouble if such a tiny girl would be walking in a place filled with their kind who would even kill for a drop of catfood. It wasn't only with the territorial non-humans, but the gang members who hung around as well. He could recall the many women and whores they held on their arms to display as though they were new watches won.  
There was only one entrance and exit total for District 9 and he sped his way there, hoping that he would get to the spot before she could. The little fool; no wonder she had gotten in trouble yesterday. She seemed too naive already and too trusting.  
He was sure he heard it, but at the same time he assumed that he was only imagining it. He swore that he could've heard Mike yelling,_ "Where the hell are you going?!" _

Just as usual, many of the non-humans and the gang members were out in the wasteland of their home; rummaging around like cockroaches for their own need, greed, and hunger. He hated the humans who came by even more; it was as though they were too low to even be considered as humans and stayed with the non-humans just so they could feel better about themselves. He couls see the strange looks received from onlookers as he ran through the trash and debris.

He had half expected it, and hoped it wasn't true; the foolish woman had actually and willingly walked deep into forbidden territory carrying cat food. It was no better if she had worn steaks around her neck and walked into a stadium of lions. He wanted to just sit back and laugh at her for being so silly, but the joke was soon over as he watched the wild prawns rise from beneath the garbage -the metal screeching on top of one another as it slid away- like flowers and eyed her like a predator stalking it's prey.  
Her look was almost dumbfounded; so foolishly walking slowly and ever so leisurely, as if she had no idea whatsoever where she was. Surely she had to know what would be coming if she walked in so innocently and calmly. The prawns were out of hiding, they crept towards her like spindly spiders; their legs and arms almost looking to similar to one another.

He sprinted to her, hoping to either knock her out of the district to her safety, or at least push her out of the way of the closing circle of ravenous non-humans. A look of shock jumped onto her unknowing face; he rejoiced in the fact that she had finally caught on to what the situation was leading to. Alas, his relief turned to anxiety, for he saw she was running towards him, like a child would to a friend.  
Again, he was stressed by how idiotic she almost seemed. All of a sudden, as if the prawns saw it too in her face, they headed for the space between her and him and waited for the right moment to just spring at her. He couldn't let someone get hurt in front of him when she had not meant it. At least, he assumed that she had not meant it.  
The distance was eaten away by his long legs and he swooped her up into his arms. He could hear air get pushed out of her and his hard body clang against something. Though he was sure he had picked her up in time, some of the prawns still had better reflexes than he did and grabbed at his hip, tearing away what fabric was wrapped around there. Human hands would've had no affect on him, but the sharp metal tips of military guns and alien claws could still dent his outer plates.

He knew for sure that the hand had inbedded 3 sharp fingers around his leg and a wet substance moved slowly down the measure of his limb. By pure instinct he kicked away what was there and wasn't. Little sounds of shrieks and clicks came from the group below and behind him as he sped away. He could hear their steps pattering on the ground, even feel the earth tremble from the weight of the chase.

He ran around the hovels that filled up the District. The houses were placed together in a way that it could serve as a maze or a trap. It depended on what view you looked at it from. Every turn past a corner, every length down an alley, under some of the roofs that overlapped other; he held the weight in his arms until he was sure that they were away from any humans or non-humans. Each moment he moved away, he could tell that one had given up and went away.  
She wasn't heavy -he was thankful for that- but the bag she held and her hair(he joked to himself about that) was heavy; dragging his legs down with every few steps and leaps. His ankles rolled back and forth and his thighs felt hot. The only comfort he got out of the hunt was how cool her flesh felt on his charged skin.

Finally, the only footsteps and tired breathing he could hear were his own. Christopher swallowed a huge intake of air before he set the young maiden in his arms down behind a large wall that he recognized was used as the betting holes during the evening and Saturdays.  
While she climbed down from his arms, he recorded that she wasn't as short as he suspected before; she reached just a few inches below his shoulders. She stepped back away from him, her feet gyrating in a circle as though she had lost touch with the sense of balance and was trying to regain it.

Once more, she set the bag down at her feet. The brown paper bag was more torn than it had been before, but it seemed that whatever was in it was still in it. The woman kept her face on him as she bent over the bag and dug her arm inside it for a few seconds. A look of epiphany lit her face as she rose back up. The notebook and capless marker were back in her hands. She flipped the wrinkled and dry pages over each other till it appeared she had found a clear spot.  
With the marker, he could hear the dry nib scratching the paper, she went wild with her writing again. Her lips rolled inside her mouth and she looked almost chinless for a second. When she was done writing what she was writing, she turned it over to him.

The ink was dry as he thought and left long streaks with gaps of white between. Some dots were dark with the rich colour of ink but soon faded till it didn't even seem to be part of the word. One phrase filled a page;

**Sorry.**

He rubbed his sore thighs,_ "No, it's....."_  
The word 'alright' almost escaped from his mandibles, but in reality, he didn't think it was alright at all. It was moronic actually to walk into District 9 with neither protection or weapon. Especially how she just about waltzed into the danger zone with a simpering smile. He kept quiet, wondering who would say the next word or what would be said. He didn't want to say such a thing to make her think that it would be... fun.... for her to get caught up in danger again and he didn't want her to feel bad by hearing him say that it was stupid and inexcusable to do in most situations. Plus, she might've taken away the cat-food.

She made whistling sounds and clicking sounds. They sounded faster than before so he got a better understanding.

He still thought it was annoying to hear her speak that way. He thought that by now, the language 'converter' should've started kicking in or grew slowly, but it still seemed as though he had never did it. Most likely, it would kick in and start by tomorrow. But then again, would he have the chance to communicate with her? She had already came and said her thanks. He didn't think there was anything about him that could appeal to her that would have her coming back for more and he certainly couldn't seduce a human for his own pleasure. It was against the law and sick to even do or think such a thing. He pushed that worry to the back of his mind and focused on listening to her little clicks and chirping.  
In exasperation as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest, he clicked out, _"What's wrong with you? Why don't you speak?"_

She seemed distrubed by his question and it was like he had just asked the wrong thing. But she smiled through what seemed to be a quivering face. Her smile kept wavering up and down like the waves of rushing water. He felt so unsure of himself knowing that he was the one who suddenly popped her bubble like that. He wondered just how much he hurt her by that question. She turned the notebook over to her front and wrote again in exagerated movements. In an instant, she showed him her message again;

**Mute.**

He was taken aback and the feeling of guilt flowered in his bowels. He gulped, _"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought you were maybe...."_ he bit his tongue again; refraining the word 'dumb' from escaping in tell-tale clicks.  
She wrote once more on the notebook, her tongue clicking out a pattern of speech that was similar to his own people and abnormal at the same time when she did so. He looked overhead of her writing and the black scribblings and scrawls had filled the page. It was amazing in the effort of communication that she put into just to say what she wanted. He figured that if the fate should ever befall him, he would of been happier to just be silent for the rest of his existance. Hell, that was basically it now. The MNU agents rarely listened and took in what the non-humans had to say. It was the same as MNU being deaf or they being mute and speechless.  
She finished by stamping the paper with the tip of her marker and passed the notebook into his opening 3 fingered-hand. He held it carefully as if it was an eggshell, so afraid that it could perhaps crumble apart into dust from it's brittleness or his fiery skin would actually melt the ink and stain it over the surface of splattered white.

**I want to thank you. That was very kind of you to help me yesterday.  
The men were going to hurt me and I was afraid nobody would stop them.  
Even more, I am thankful that you were able to understand me that day.  
Few would have been able to and less than that would've done something.  
I brought you a gift.**

Right when he finished the word 'gift' he dropped the notebook from his gaze and saw that she had already picked up the torn brown bag. She moved it closer to him, a smile growing on her face. The young girl whistled and clicked; he understood one word amongst the little sounds, _"Cat-food."_  
He was already trembling and shaking to see the cans of chopped up fish guts, salted and whatnot, lined up with one another that he could barely see a bit of the base of the paper bag. His insides felt like they were twisted up and his forehead was throbbing. His hearts were racing against each other in what seemed to be an endless marathon. He could hear the bag crinkle and cry, almost urging him to just swallow them up. He wondered just what he did to deserve such a reward.  
Was a human's life and gratitude worth so much?

If she hadn't had whistled, he probably would've stood there, glued to the ground, staring at the treat in front of him.  
_Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweet.  
Tweeeeet...._  
He looked to see her cat-like eyes almost wider than before. He inquired to her what she was whistling about and she clicked her tongue to a very basic word in his language; 12. He couldn't really believe it. He had thought there were about 4 or 5, but 12! He had never held so many of it all at once in his hands. He didn't even think he had seen as many cans as that at the same time.

_"Why did you get so many?"_

A whistle and clicks was how she replied, _"Too much?"_

He shook his head; explaining, _"No, no. I... I appreciate it. I just didn't think that you could get so many on one occasion. They're always so expensive -to us, that is- but it must be worth some value to the humans..."_

She shook her head, chattering away like a cicada. In her almost incoherent phrases, he could make out one word, _".... job...."_

"_You worked for these?"_ he asked while picking up one of the cans. She shook her head again, her eyes looking frantic. He wondered why there was such a panic in her expression. Did he do something to make her scared? Was she mistaking hunger in his eyes for blood-lust? Could there be something he didn't detect but she did? Whatever it might've been, the young woman spun around in circles, her head going up and down as though she was looking for something.  
She turned her back to him and he almost felt helpless not knowing what look was on her face for him to understand her by. Her shoulders rose up and slumped with an air of disappointment. He put the can right back into the bag and came closer to her. Her bushy hair almost touching his chest. He could already feel the sharp stringy strands scratching and poking though the cracks of his hide plates. She didn't jerk or flinch to the feeling of a body coming closer, while he did. It was strange to experience such a thing while one was well aware of what was happening. He pondered why was it when she had her face turned away from him, he felt all the more nervous than when he had held her in his arms and ran away. The feeling of uncertainty pinched at his brain.

She finally looked at him and motioned with a quick swing of her wrist to come closer. He complied. She focused her attention to a grimy piece of tin in front of them that had served its use as a wall. She started writing on the tin; the dust and germs being moved away like the earth and the long cries of the dirty tip meeting marred sheen. THe marker was getting drier and drier. The black ink was almost a dingy grey and it was hard to tell which word was which. He felt almost giddy to see how quick she could write, but the words appeared like fish coming from rising waters. He had felt those hands on him, he had even touched them for an instant. But he was filled with such an urge to place just one finger on her thin wrist or fingers to feel the skill of speed that she displayed for him. It was like watching something that had never been watched or was not meant to be. He supposed that it would've felt right if he had looked away and only read it when she was done, but the temptation at looking at such a work in progress was worth it more than that feeling.  
The limb and tool moved gracefully, as the words themselves slowly disappeared just as gracefully.

At that point, he could only guess what she was saying.

_"Oh, you have a job and you were able to get these?"_ he asked to verify his assumption from her handwriting ruined by metal and vanishing ink.

She nodded eagerly as though he had guessed where she had hidden away secret treasure.  
Christopher looked at the lines and dashes again. _"No, I wasn't worried about how much it costs -I mean, I didn't want to impose too much on you."_  
She smiled and her mouth opened. Even laughing, not a single sound came from her. She turned back to the wall to write, yet as her hand and the marker moved in an elaborate dance, no words came from them. Her mouth stretched down into a look of shock that he could always recognize and she looked up worriedly to him.

She was too quick and too strange in her speaking of whistles and clicks.

He couldn't understand her._ "What is it? What's wrong?"_

Her face was pulled together in a way that even without a smile, she was something to marvel at. From pursed lips then stretching out, he could only briefly understand what she was trying to say, _"..... still...... and.....?"_

_"What?"_

She repeated herself again, the sounds were identical, but he picked up something else from it, _"..... you...... under......sing.....?"_

He shook his head, the image of her hair flying everywhere came to his mind. _"I can't understand you. What is it?"_

She sighed so loudly that it annoyed him; her mixed eyes rolling back. Without anything else, she waved to him, looking almost in dismay, and ran through the alleys. She ran straight down away from him and turned into a corner. He went after her, trying to track her down. He wanted to know what was it she was suddenly running away from him. There wans't really anything. He was on full alert for anything that could be coming and to make sure that he always had some idea where she was. Small muffled thumps of her footsteps almost echoed throughout the dismal field of trash and junk.  
He yelled after her, starting to pick up speed, "_Stop! They're going to come after you again!"_

She didn't stop.  
She didn't reply with imitating clicks.  
She didn't even whistle.

He kept close after her -the gift held tightly in his hands- and started to gain up on her. Their simuteneous steps and the clanging from the jumping cans attracted many questioning stares. They kept running and running. They ran through and past the same spot where she had once again gotten attacked. The non-humans that had saw her and were about to attack her were luckily not there. Though a few of them -some he knew, some he didn't care to know- perked up to see her running and him chasing after her.  
One of them jumped to his side and held him around his waist. Said non-human asked with a husky tone and pitched clicks, "_What are you doing? Don't you know you could get in trouble with what you're doing? We can't afford having you in jail right now -think about the plan!"_  
He didn't resist or grapple his way out of his friends arms. Christopher kept his gaze on her; her hair rising up and down and the length of her dress rushing and rolling behind her. She just had to run straight through the arch. Some of the humans stared and even started to approach her, their axes and guns in their hands.

He mentally urged her to run faster. Jump. Roll. Anything to get out faster. Almost like magic, as soon as one of her covered toes just passed beneathe the shadows of the arch, the human men hesitated in their steps like they had no idea what they were just thinking about and went back to work and the non-humans who were watching her so carefully acted like she hadn't been there. He still watched her, wanting to make sure that she was out of the proximity and surely she would be safe from the dangers that could leak out of District 9.  
She moved -almost like she was trying to hide and watch him as he was watching her- around the pole holding up the metallic sheet reading; District 9 and past the same chain link fence.

The bushy-haired, brown-and-green-eyed woman waved to him and mouthed something that he didn't understand. Yet an electric feeling jolted him to see those lips move and he could've sworn the message was something of endearment, but he ignored it.  
She moved away and he couldn't believe that it was so possibly for someone eccentric as her to camoflauge so easily in the now busy streets of Johannesburg. He couldn't tell where she had gone anymore.

The clicking and buzzing was still in his ear, the non-human who had their arms around him pestered with questions, _"What did she steal from you? Did she catch you doing something? Why were you chasing her?"_ There was a slight pause when Christopher could hear his friend's neck creak. He knew that he was looking at the catfood in the bag._ "Did you steal cat-food from her?"_

Christopher didn't answer.  
He got out of the grip of his friend and started to head to his hut. The possessive instinct finally took over him and he cupped his arms all around the bag; determined not to lose a single can. He walked -rather it looked like he was stalking, that anything that crossed him, he would destroy it in a heartbeat. He could sense of essence of dare and nervousness from around him. He knew that they all knew what was in there; by how he acted towards the package and the wafting smell of manufactured plastic and fish. Let them know what he had. It was all his and he wouldn't let them have a single bite. His feeling of sudden domination was melted away by a little thing. Such an odd affect the woman had on his behavior and thinking. As he walked back to his hut to hide away his new treat, a little voice reminded him of something.

_'I didn't even ask her name.'_ he scolded to himself.

* * *

**Who is this unnamed woman? Will she be his new found love? WIll she be the path that leads him to a higer understanding? Or could she simply be an obstacle?  
Stay tuned to this fanfic to find out the answers to these questions and more!**

**That was the third chapter. Next chapter will hopefully be better. **

**As usual, any comments or questions, please leave them in your review.**


	4. You asked for her, got her, now love her

**Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.**

**My updates are going to be much slower since I've started high school.  
****Sigh.....  
****I hate high school now.  
****Can you guys give me your opinion?  
****I went to this reach ahead course during the summer and got 87% on it for math. Should I stay in the grade I am or go ahead? What do you thnk? **

**First, I've posted up a fanfic called, "Letting Go of the Butterfly in My Hand." Please read about it.  
Another one is "The Grace of My Days" Check that out too.  
**

* * *

Monday.

There was work again. He woke up early as usual. The morning sun that shone from the small window and cracks above awoke him up along with the screeching wailing signal of the morning that came. He forced himself up, hating himself and his bones for being so weak to be so uncomfortable. The familiar newspapers -along with new ones that he found blowing around the neighboring hovels- and small scraps of the thinnest of rags blanketed him fell off him with crinkling that buzzed at his ears like someone had thrown rocks at him.  
It was too early for this. His legs were bent up stiffly against his chest. All the while, his long spindly arms hugged around his thin form. Fatigue yelled and wailed for him to just drop; pinching at his eyes and begging him to keep the leather-like hide over them closed like he had in his dreamless sleeps.

He pushed out his legs and knees that it hurt when he stretched; his thin ligaments expanding and feeling like it was going to rip. His wide mouth opened in an exhausted yawn and the air tasted of compost on his sandy tongue.  
The morning siren, this time it was the alarm for the start of working hours, shrieked and urged each one of them. He strode over to the door. Just before leaving his disheveled home, he looked down at the ground, knowing that beneathe it was a literal treasure. A smile that only their kind could display grew on his face as he remembered the human woman who gave it to him. He wondered if he would see her again that morning. He shook it out of his head and breathed in the thick morning air.

Going out of his hut, he soon joined a small crowd of the other non-humans who were going to work in the mines once more. Many of them were perfect for tedious labour, having been something of drones that simply followed orders on their home planet. Few of the 'leaders' and 'elitists' had survived and came. Some were going into the factories to work besides just the mines and fields.  
He hated the factories most of all. Of course it had cooler and cleaner conditions than the rest of the labour oppotunities, but the feeling that he always had of being surrounded by concrete, steel, and mercenaries made him edgy. Unbelievably, the treatement from the guards from inside working were even harsher than it was in the outdoors. He liked the mines because it was more open and it felt as though you could just go into hiding down in the crevasses and tunnels. Although the factory pay was much better than mining pay.

The sun was just gleaming through the high buildings and skyscrapers of Jo'burg and the skies were painted with dripping orange streaks. He squinted his golden eyes to see the dark obliques of high towers overpowered by the light.  
Such a scene had him fall in love with the city. He had thought that it all was going to end and everything would get worse. But this sight inspired him that although the darkness had come, it could also easily be changed like the night to early morning. The first time he ever saw it such a heart-warming scene was early in morning from the hospital windows of the MNU with the cold serious Doctor Chun-Fen Wu.....  
He felt almost torn recalling the memories of being in the hospital in the few years arriving on Earth with his people. They were all so sick and so was he... and yet fate had it so that she would be his doctor. She, who always stood so cold and spoke so sternly, would've opened something light and warm inside of him and treat him so kindly that he remembered silently tearing up remembering the gestures she gave directly to him without anyone knowing or seeing.  
Unfortunately, the anti-nonhumanists had interfered with her thoughts and their friendship. Again, he shook that pesky memoir out of his green-coloured skull.

The morning felt colder than it had yesterday. He almost shivered; Christopher felt weak of himself that he still had the scraps of clothing on his back while most had resorted to going almost nude and were not even shaking.  
There was no talking. There was no socializing. There was not even a simple greeting amongst them. Too much paranoia in the human public and the military figures were too harsh to even talk to.

Going close to the entrance of District 9, men in black uniforms that hid away their identities stood like gates and pickets. Guns were held so diligently in their trained hands. Hardly an ounce of expression could've been seen on their plastic covered faces. Each man stood shoulder to shoulder with the next; they made an unpenetrable path for the non-humans to follow and obey. Not one of them dared to look at the men -taller that they were than the MNU workers- and chose to focus their attention to the ground. The buses were rumbling and growling, jumping from the grounds like it was so excited to haul them away to potential death.  
As each non-human got up onto the step, the bus was weighed down and then rose back up. The men at the doors held papers and would ask to each one coldly, "Name."

Clicks would be their replies and a checkmark would go to an assigned code that was accompanied with a name.

While he was close to the doors and had given the men his name, he quickly tried to see if she had come back. He knew it was more likely that she would be back between the evening and late in the afternoon like yesterday, but she had left so abruptly for some uncalled reason that he thought she would still come back.  
She wasn't there. Of course, she wasn't.  
She had better things to do in the morning than come see something like him; making the silliest hand-gestures and noises to try to talk to him. She was probably more preoccupied with something else like her job she had mentioned yesterday other than meeting him and he had get to to work and supposed even if she had come, the most he could've done was wave. Going onto the bus and finding his seat, he was hyped up about working inthe mines again, he was sure that he would be so busy with his labour that she would hardly be on his mind like the other day.

Yet it was so stupid for him to think that such a woman like her wouldn't leave some impression on him. All during the work hours and the much too short breaks, he could imagine that he heard her whistling and his head would perk up to try and see a bushy top of hair. Or when all seemed too quiet, he would look around the cracks and hiding places all throughout the hills and mountains to see if she was there again like she was before.  
Each rock and wall he looked behind rewarded him with disapointment and a feeling of hurt.  
Some of his companions who he worked with had asked,_ "What's wrong with you, Christopher? Old age catching up to you before your time?"_

He would not even respond, just silently hoping to see the bushy-haired woman sitting behind a rock or a wall.  
Sara was the first to remark so harshly, _"You're acting like a damn fucking fool. Get your head on straight or the MNU will detain you for recklessness."_ She was one to speak.

In the evening when he boarded the bus home and sat with Sara, he would look out the window again. Every figure in the moonlight, against the walls, walking up and down the streets was her to him. He couldn't even focus straight and the memory of her face was slipping away from him like fine sand. All that he could remember was that bushy hair which seemed to unruly to tame or even comb and the strange splash of jealous green in her warm brown eyes.

* * *

Tuesday.

Work again. He woke up; already working close to 3 weeks straight in the mines. His limbs and joints were stiff together and he painfully torre them apart to get his moter skills back. He slowly got up, taking in his surroundings like there was a suspicion that something could've been bugged or something was different. He stretched upward; his shoulder plates touching the ridges of his spine.  
The morning air felt more humid than usual; the air almost thick enough to lean against and cut through with a knife. He wondered if it was going to rain. He liked the rain. The feel of the moving water going down his body; cooling him from the boiling African sun. It would feel like all the dirt and bad things were leaving him; drop by drop by drop, sinking into the ground to be buried and forgotten. Yet, tomorrow would ressurect the wounds and he would be riddled with them again.

Going outside, the same crowd of people bumped into him and he bumped back. Some he recognized and some he knew were going back to work for the first time in 2 months. The same guards were there, though there seemed to be more than ever and he avoided them like just looking could be the cause for a bullet in the brains. Hearing running footsteps outside that sounded too eager that it couldn't have been them and so light that it must've been humans; he looked up and down the legnth of the chained and barbed fences that seperated the district from the towns.  
He half expected her to come so close to the fence with her eyes lit up bright just to see him, her hair looking even more messy like she never combed; entangling with the thick black bending metal or possibly just passing by and glancing with half hidden eyes under her lashes that could have sent jolts of fear and intimidation into the bravest of hearts. But no, she didn't come. If he had fully expected her to come see him, he would've been torn to pieces inside and fall to his knees. Luckily, he had remarked that he only_ half-expected_ her to come.

In the mines, he had heard a long twang of a whistle and thought that she had decided to finally come, to find him where he had found her before. But no..... it had simply been the wind passing by and mocking his infected thoughts. He felt let-down, like she had promised to teach him how to fly in instead flew away herself. Again, Sara was quick to remark his distracted mind and he wanted to punch her in the tentacles and break a few canines to have her shut up. He couldn't take her talking.

Even coming back, he was tormented with the thought of her. She had appeared too suddenly and her leaving was too sudden for him. She didn't even tell him when she would be back and the very idea that he would never see her again annoyed him greatly. Instead of resting in his drafty hut, he exposed himself to the cold moon and freezing air; letting his body go numb and hoping that his mind would soon as well. The feelings of abandonment were too strong and fiery for him to handle and control without precautions.

* * *

Wednesday.

Going to work on the bus, his joints were stiffer than ever and he was still freezing cold from last night. Each step was murder on his ankles and his feet. On the bus, he looked out through the barred and fenced in windows. It was more like he was going on a trip to a much worse jail than the factories that provided for all of Johannesburg.  
The faces out on the streets were wary people, staring with gaping eyes and clenched mouth. Facing them was like facing a guillotine that was waiting for him to lie before it on his knees. But he willed himself to meet their expression and bear through it; fed by the urge that one of the faces out there would be hers -friendly and warning and so innocent. He thought he would see her walk the streets at least, even if she wouldn't acknowledge him, he thought that he would be able to see her at least one more time.  
But no.  
She still didn't come. It was as though she had disappeared from existance; like he had simply imagined saving this woman to keep from killing himself from boredom.

Instead of the expected anger rushing over him, he felt a feeling of worry and empathy. He wondered why he should feel such things for a dumb woman.

* * *

Thursday.

Work again. Bought 2 heads of cows after work when he came back home. Could barely eat it, though. She still didn't come; neither in the morning nor the evening. He was still cold from Tuesday. Fuck it; why was he feeling so depressed about disappointment?  
He had been disappointed plenty of occasions. Why was it he felt even worse for this time?

* * *

Friday.

Work

Home.

Dinner.

_'She's already thanked you. Why whould she come back? She has no reason to..... no reason.... no reason.... no reason....'_ the words repeated over and over in his head until they were blackened and drowned out by tired sleep. The wind did not comfort him with sweet soothings, but left him to suffer the drafts in silence.

* * *

Saturday.

Last day before ordained break. He hoped to see her. He promised to himself that if she didn't come today, he would still wait until tomorrow for it would be the very end of his patience for her. The he would have to forget about her completely, shun the gleam of her eyes away from his mind and the pits of his stomach. He would force himself to forget about her, even if it meant beating the memory of her out of his head with a stick.

* * *

Sunday.

Before he counted, the days without her had turned into a whole week. He sat on top of a pile of trash as some of his colleagues were scrounging through the dumpsters and hill. He would look up every so often, hoping to catch a glimpse of that ridiculous bushy hair and shiny brown and green eyes. He thought he saw her biking down the street, but it was his imagination playing tricks on him again.

Until the very evening when his bones were well frosted and his hide plates were frigid enough to stick to metal, he stayed out.... The wind spoke to him once more, _'You are alone..... You are alone...... You are alone..... You are alone......_'

He actually obeyed and left his solitary spot to go inside and give up, determined to find a big hard stick tomorrow.

* * *

Monday.

She was completely gone from him now. He was sure of that fact. He would never see her again or hear her whistle, even see her wild acts of writing in the little notebook of hers. It wasn't too tragic, was it? They had met. He was able to play the role of the dashing savior twice. She had come to see him a day after. She had thanked him and smiled at him.

It honestly wasn't so bad, he kept telling himself.

Yet, no matter how convincing he tried to be to himself and how composed he was around his companions, he felt like he had been betrayed; the feeling of a knife twisting harder and deeper into his back stung.

* * *

The days had turned to weeks, and before long the weeks had turned to a whole month. He knew that then, he would never see her again. He would never ever see her again. he was able to find the strength to push the memory of her colourful expressions out of his head -his thoughts. He felt almost better without her haunting him.

With the yearning to do more work to keep his mind focused on something else, he found himself to be a very effecient worker and his friends even commented on why he was more hard-working than usual.  
Only in brief moments when everything turned blank and his mind was clean, the thought of scratchy bushy hair and cat like eyes came to him. He would slap himself hard to erase the image out.

* * *

It was on one normal day, a day that felt the same as any other day -although a bit cloudier, he stayed at home to go scavenging again. In his 3 fingered hand, he carried out a dented rusted metal pail that he had found a few days again when it was raining. The pail was ideal for carrying water back and forth without spilling a drop, but he discovered its uses as a container for what he found better than one used for water.

He remembered that a few weeks ago, he had found a part from their alien world that MNU had overlooked and he carried it to Charles' hut in the bucket. The way to anywhere in District was always bumpy and it was more easier to lose than to recover amongst the piles of debris. He carried the cubic part; it clanking and jumping all around as he ran. Storming safely in into Charles's hut and quickly explaining that he had found something, he entered the room and helped remove the hidden door that masqueraded as the wall.

Charles Dickens -so sarcastically named because the name database of MNU had randomly chosen the name for him with no prior knowledge or humour- was another chemist who was closer to Christopher than Mike was. Charles had a rather dirty colour to his form; patches of blue, black, green, and yellow. Although the combination of black and yellow appeared more dominant in his patterning. With smart reasoning and a quick fist, he destroyed one of the huts behind his and fashioned an extension to house the secret chemistry set he made himself from tubes, garbage, and the occasional trash from the hospital that ended up in District 9 or anywhere around it.  
Though friendlier to the non-humans and higher ranked than Christopher had been, he had a foul mouth and often swore. He chose to wear nothing, claiming that he could blend in more easiler than with patches of colour and human logos on his body.

Charles had demanded like a young impatient child, "_Show me! Show me! I want to see it!"_  
Carefully, taking out the alien object from the bucket, he realized in horror... that it was leaking. Both non-humans looked at each other and neither said a word. As Christopher gripped it hard and opened it up with a sharp _cracckk_ a drop escaped out and the entire thing was empty. Christopher was shocked. One drop and it was gone; every drop counted. He looked his friend dead in the eye and was met with a slap across the face. _"You fool! You lost every single drop! Who knows how much we could've gotten from it!"_

His head whipped back and then recoiled down His eyes widened as he exclaimed, "_No! Look, in there!"_ Both peered their heads close to the dented bucket and saw a lake of the black concentrate fuel at the bottom.

His mouth dropped and he carefully reached in a finger to test the fluid. Charles face washed over with relief and he moaned, "_Oh thank the worlds! It hasn't been diulluted; quick, pour it into the netting."_  
From then on, he always used the dented bucket to go scavenging.

Jumping through the trash dumpsters and swimming in dirt, he hadn't filled the bucket with alien parts as he had hoped. Although he was full of tire rubber patches and wrappers with food sticking onto the greasy paper. Rubber tires were something that he liked. The taste of it was smoky and it always gave him the impression that he had something to eat in his mouth. The texture of it was bumpy and tough. Their spit made it feel slippery and the sensation of it moving all over his mouth was enjoyable. The equivalent of tire to a non-human would've been gum to a human.  
The skies and everything around seemed to be a bit darker, looking more blue. Even without a clock, he figured it must have been around 6 or 7 by then. Another clue that told him how close it was to 8 o' clock Curfew was how he could already see some of the helicopters fly out, hovering around District 9.

Picking up a large shattered piece of a computer hard-drive, he heard yelling and he probably assumed that the last cockfights of the day were starting again. However, his ears picked up on a few words, "_Can't.... You.... Read...."_

Certainly the word 'read' didn't belong in a crowd of cockfights. He was curious as to what could've been the source of the word in District 9. He decided to investigate.  
Picking up the grey tin bucket, he followed the drifting words until he came to a fence. He almost laughed at how well it was set up. He saw a tall non-human, a plain black one in the nude, and in his hand was a large breen bottle. Already from where he was, he could smell the alchohol and piss that was the non-human's scent. He could hear the slurring in its clicks, "_What? I.. I dunno what izzit you want.... Just shpeak up!"_

_'It couldn't be, It simply couldn't be.'_ he thought to herself as he imagined who it might've been that the non-human was talking to. _'It can't be her. The odds are too great. Then, what would she be doing here?'_  
He came a little closer to the scene, the drunken non-human obviously didn't notice him. It raised the heavy bottle high up in the air and took a swig; drips of the bitter smelling liquid spilled at his feet. He heard something like rustling and the fence ringing out. what was happening over there? Coming closer, practically standing right behind him; his eyes widened to confirm who it was the non-human had been speaking with.

It was her!

The young woman looked so different than before. before she had resembled something that might've been seen in fairy tales about the great spirits of Africa and the such, but in front of him, she looked like any sort of woman. One that belonged hiding in the corners of buildings and consorting with dark-skinned men who wore do-rags on their bald heads and carried guns in their pockets.  
She wore a dark black and white plaided hoodie and a long flowing red skirt that stopped right below her kneest; the hoodie, its white colouring looking a light tinted blue in the darkness, was pulled over her head and the thick bushy hair crowded her face in the oh-so limited space. Although, her exotic brown and green eyes still appeared so clearly behind the black and dark. In her hand, she held the same wrinkled notepad of paper he remembered when she came inside District 9 that read in big letters;

**Where is he?**

The non-human was swearing and asking, "_Fuck off! If you a whore, I don't need one!"_ He lunged his arm out through the holes of the fence and the woman gasped out loud, backing away. Even from his view, he could see the paranoid fear in her eyes and he was worried if he made himself known to her, the same look would be presented to him. _"Fuck off!"_ the non-human cried out again. The young woman made a face; her arched eyebrows coming together and her mouth pouting as though she had seen something particularily nasty. She turned around; a black back pack with red hearts decorating rested on her shoulders. She was leaving.

Christopher jumped out to the fence, pulling the drunken non-human out of the way and throwing him off. He didn't fight back; he was weak-willed and intoxicated. He simply threw up at his side and crawled away. The trash played a tell-tale sound, telling him that the non-human was getting farther and farther away.

_"Wait!"_ he called out to the young female.  
The young woman turned around and looked at him; he could see indifference in her expression. The same crescent smile appeared on her face, but she hesitated in coming over to him. He dropped the pail at his side, it clanked loudly and he was sure that a few of his findings fell out. He didn't care. It was his turn to ask her. He almost imagined how nervous she must've felt then; wondering if it was the right thing to approach and talk. He openly held out his hand to her -palm up- and soothed, "_Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. Do... do you remember me?"_

She seemed more excited and she went quickly to the fence, almost placing her hand right on his and coming so close to him that he could smell the flowery scent of laundry detergent from her. If the metal wire hadn't had seperated the both of them, he would've been tempted to just pull her to him and embrace her. She smiled a wide smile, her shiny white teeth peeking through. Her lower jaw moved up and down as though she could've been.... laughing? She was even mute when it came to laughing.

_"It's been a long time, have you... been well?"_ he asked her nervously.

She nodded and laughed, though her laugh was silent. Her head directed down, but her eyes turned up under those lashes and her look was something devious and cunning. She reached behind her back and a black marker suddenly appeared.  
She flipped to another sheet -stained but clean- and wrote again. She seemed more in a rush to what she was writing than if she simply been writing and entertained whoever it was watching her. The same flicks of her wrist and liquid movements of her arms contouring and bending. He knew that behind the little show would be one or 2 simple phrases. Even a word. Still, he loved to watch her write; to imagine those arms naked and drifting in invisable circles above her, like she was drawing an entire barrier around her.  
She quickly finished and turned the page over to him. In those beautiful flowing words, it read;

******I've been well.**

Yet at the same time, she responded in her strange tongue, "_Of course."_  
It was odd now. Even without the written translation, he could still understand her. Whenever she spoke, she attempted to use whistling and clicking her pink tongue on the roof of her mouth. Ridiculous as it sounded, it was endearing and it showed some sort of effort. But hearing her 'language' and understanding it sent his brain in spirals. He could hear what she was saying, but at the same time it was as though something else was whispering raggedly in his ear -translating what she was saying. The writing summed it up for him, but it was almost reading the word 'blue' in green ink.

"_It works."_ he blurted out.

She slanted her head and bits of whistling came from her pursed lips, "_What did?"_ She took the notebook back into her view and she flipped the pages wildly. The paper sounded like the shifting of the waters he heard when he was in town or close to the factories. When she flipped the sheets at one end and apperently saw that there was nothing she was looking for, she went to the other end and quickly found it. Holding it out again, there was a page filled with scribbles and crosses over past notes and phrases. The only thing darkened and noticable out of the sea of black ink was;

**?**

It would be difficult to explain exactly to a human. He expected that most humans would be shocked by the idea of a non-human getting inside their heads to understand them. Then again, she seemed to be a dumb naive thing -she was standing so closely to a resident of District 9- and perhaps she wouldn't be so creeped out by the idea.  
_I.... uh... that is to say, I...."  
_What was the best word to use for 'merging minds' without it sounding too intrusive or perverted? He thought up of every single way he could say it;  
-I melted my brains with yours. Too disgusting.  
-I probed your mind. Too 'alien'.  
-I came inside you. ... Too perverted!  
-I performed a neural-brain transfer that would complete the task of elucidating our vermacular hence we could come to a mutual comprehension. Too long and she wouldn't understand.  
-I went on a funny little trip into your head to a place called 'Grey matter-ville' where I left a tiny translator inside your skull so we could talk to each other. Too childish!  
He gulped and continued nervously, _"I did something... it's harmless, by the way!.... I did it so that whatever you said would be understood perfectly.... It's just that last time, I could barely understand you and my intuition didn't help much, so I thought that... if I did that for you, it would be much easier to speak to each other."  
'If you ever came back.'_ he added in mentally.

A certain sort of look glazed over her face. Her eyes suddenly went dead with her lips parting so briefly from each other. He wondered if she really did understand what he was saying. She blinked like he expected how a child would blink when they were confused of confronted with something beyond their comprehension. Slowly, she raised the notebook with the decorated ? between the 2 of them and pointed verry keenly at it; almost like she wasn't sure if she should've been asking again or she was embarrassed and ashamed to be asking.

_"I can understand you better than before."_ he summarized for her.  
The question mark stayed raised between them, like an annoyance of a reminder. _'Goodness, how can I explain it much simpler than that? That's basically it; I can understand her.'_ He thought hard on how he could speak more basically to her.  
_"Um... you don't need to use your notebook with me. I can understand whatever it is you're saying. Without your notebook."_

It seemed that she finally understood. For the dull look sharpened to one that had a sudden epiphany. Her lips rounded in a circular _O_ and he smiled at finally having her understand. She bared those white teeth at him in a crescent grin. She struggled to speak with him again.  
Her words were still agonizingly slow and butchered like she had no idea how to pronouce -merely having watched the mouths move and trying to imitate- but his understanding of hers was much more fluent. He was sure that in the future perhaps, if she came once every so often to see him and tried speaking, her tongue would master the complex movements, she would be adequately acceptable in speaking and the others would be able to understand her as well.  
_"You can understand me?"_ she asked after what seemed like an eternity of trial and error.

He nodded his head. That was what he told her, wasn't it? He could understand her -at least better than before.

_"That's amazing."_ she remarked. She came even closer to him; her face just about an inch from the rusting metal of the railing. Instinctly, he moved closer to her as well; bending slightly lower to come even closer to those strands of hair that refused to be covered by the cheap felt of the hoodie and his antennas lightly tapped against her head. She backed her head up, obviously surprised by the feeling of his antennas touching her. He was about to move back, but seeing her smiling like a kindly nun that he had seen before and returning back to her position, he didn't back away and his antennas sat still at the sides of her head.

_"So scary."_ She whispered in a low key.  
He wondered what exatly she thought was scary.

She looked up at him and her hands hesitantly carressed the space around his face. Her palm hovered about, almost unsure if whether she should actually touch him, if she was allowed to. He could see from her long neck, the little muscle moving down and back up; she gulped. He himself was unsure on how to give his permission if she really was going to or wanted to. He was tempted to take his own hands and place it over hers to bring to his face, but he stayed still. Her eyes scanned and jumped over his face.  
A human's expression was almost too easy to read with their skin always changing and moving and those eye brows that hung over their eyes. He could just see fear in her eyes, even if she had acted kind to him.  
His pincers and mandibles clicked over his tentacles, producing that light tapping sound and apperently it found for her that confidence to touch him. She lightly traced his tentacle and her other hand joined the exploration of his head.

Her hands felt rough and almost rubbery. He had expected -looking at her -that her hands and tips would be the softest like the finest marbles and so elegant. But his thoughts on what a woman's skin ought to feel like was changed by her natural feel. Christopher mentally laughed; everything was so different with her and nothing was what it seemed.  
A demure woman who was both brave and almost stupid.  
A graceful touch that was rough and real.  
A curiosity that was too pure to believe.  
She stared deep at him -he was almost cross-eyed- and she pointed out, _"It's like.... you're.... reading my mind, isn't it?"_

Her fingers curled into her palms and she placed her hands to her side. He could see a sort of shuddering feeling from her. Christopher felt slightly offended but he understood. They were silent, simply looking at each other. She seemed well, her face seemed full and there weren't any bruises. He felt shy being so close to her right out in public where everyone could see the 2 of them -albeit in the dark- and without even thinking, he asked her out loud, "_What have you been up to?"_  
He wanted to bite off his mandibles because he just felt like an idiot in front of her. He didn't want to say anything stupid, but at the same time, he just wanted to distract her long enough so she could just stay around him longer.

_"Just been working."_ she answered so casually. How smooth and clear her thoughts were. Much as her words and phrasing were horrible on the ears, she had answered very quickly. It was like she had rehearsed her lines for that sort of situation. _"Busy more. You?"_

He tactfully replied, _"Same as you; working."_

Her smile quirked and her eyes darted to the ground, _"Something for you."_ She moved away from him and bent down to pick up a box, simutenously putting her notebook and marker behind her, in her bag he supposed.

Strange how he didn't notice that. He was excited. What did she have for him? More catfood? He was down to his last 2 cans and he hoped that she had brought more for him. _"What is it?"_ he eagerly asked her. He felt almost embrassed that her gesture was once again overshadowed by the thought of catfood. Catfood was just an addiction to non-humans with the wet moist pieces and the tongue-curling saltiness.

She suddenly produced a large box from behind her and she held it up to his view for him to see, _"A jacket."_  
What was between the 2 was a large flat box. It was white and there appeared to be some crinkling on the faces of it. She brought it against her chest and opened up the box, dropping the paper cover of it on the ground and the wind blowing away. He was about to say something about the trash, but decided it wasn't worth it. His eyes widened at the sight of contrasting red barricade by the sides of white paper. The jacket was a rich crimson and it looked remarkably new. He could almost smell the manufacture on it; so reminiscent of the time he worked in blasted factories, but so much cleaner. On the left of it was a very small logo of something called "The Lions". Strange, the name sounded familiar in the city, but he just couldn't place it. In the way that the jacket was folded, he could see the white fluffy fleece lining that went with the outer wind-proof material. He could just imagine how warm it would be in the nights. She bucked up the box so that one arm could hold it against her chest while her other hand pulled it out and help it up.  
_"You like it?"_ she asked him with hopefullness in her gaze.

He responded immediately, _"It's.... wow."_  
He wasn't sure what to say. Most people -whether their intentions were good or bad- usually gave the non-humans cans of food and cat-food, rarely anything else. And to receive something that would last longer than a meal was something certainly special.

Suddenly, she huffed out and asked, "_Don't want to give it.... through the gate. You think... I can go... into District 9?"_

He was taken aback. Why would she be asking his permission whether or not she could enter District 9? It was basically a place that was free to the public, whether they dared to go into it. For humans, it was like suicide -a death wish. He encouraged her though, "_They won't attack you as long as you're with someone here. But you must never come in here alone."_

She nodded. "_You'll be here.... there... waiting, right?"_

_"Of course, I will be."_ he promised.

She looked up and down -both ways of the street, "_Walk with me?"_ She pointed to her right and he followed her as soon as she took her first step.

Walking next to her felt nice, albeit there was a barricade between them. She carried the jacket to her body as though it was something -someone- she wanted to embrace. The way that her arms crossed over it and bent at those alluring angles made him think that she must've been used to having a body close to her at all times. He wondered -if there was a man somewhere out there who was missing her body from his, her arms around his neck and her warm breath whispering silently in his ear, tickling.  
For an average person, her steps were smaller than what he expected; he had to try to slow himself down before he walked too far from her.

_Why did you suddenly come to see me after all this time?  
Would your family scold you -worry about you- if they saw you now walking alongside a non-human?  
How old are you?  
What are your hopes and dreams?  
Do you like the night?  
Have you ever see the dawn and twilight of this city?  
Aren't you scared of me?  
Were you ever scared of me?  
Why are you mute?  
Your eyes are so different; has someone ever told you that it makes you look like a cat?  
Were you ever thinking about me for the past month?  
Did you have nightmares of me as your bogeyman instead of the one who saved you?  
What is your name?_

All those questions jumped and dived into the pool that was his subconscious. He wanted to ask every question he could think of, have her answer them so well that even after an hour, he would know her. He wanted to ask her for her name, but this came out of his mandibles in lieu of it, "_Have you ever been in District 9 before?"  
_Stupid! He blew the first spark of his confidence on a stupid question like that! Of course, she had been in District 9 before, she came to bring him cat food. She must've thought by now that he never paid attention and he was as absentminded as the drones that made up more of the population of the non-humans.

He was about to tell her to forget about that question and fix up his mistake by asking her name then, but she interrupted him by her whistling response. _"Honestly; never been in District 9 before. 'Cept the last time I brought cat-food. District 9's been this scary thing for me since ever."_

_"I bet that before you were born, the news was already spreading that non-humans destroyed everything that came into their paths." _

_"Actually, was about 3 when.... the... when you guys came. Can still remember everyone screaming."_ a worried look came over her face as she finished.

_"You were 3... when we first came.... so by now that would make you-"_  
She interrupted him by a sharp whistle and holding up her arms -her elbows clenched to her body to keep the jacket from falling. Her hands were held out in a strange way; her palms faced him, on her right hand, she left down her 4th finger. The rest of the fingers on that hand stood so erectly but he could still see the taut skin stretching. For her left hand, she held out a rosy pink palm. With her tongue, she clicked against the roof of her mouth 18 times.  
_"You're 18 years old."_ he repeated out loud.

Now, that was one thing he knew about her.  
All at once, he felt old; his 140 years compared to her young 18.  
_"So..."_ he hesitated in asking. Perhaps he should talk about something else before asking her another question. What if the time difference between each question was too short and it would be awkward to ask about her -almost interrogate her?

_"So..."_ she echoed. He was still stuck in the calley of his thoughts; wondering whether or not he should talk or ask. She decided for him. She asked him something with that twisting tongue of hers and those unbalanced clicks.

He didn't catch it,_ "What?" _

_"Name. What do they call you?" _she asked patiently.

_"Oh. Name, my name! Johnson. MNU calls me Christopher Johnson." _he informed her.  
She pulled out her notebook and marker from behind her again and held it out to her. She faced him like she could've been the devil and he was about to sign away his soul to her. He looked at the clear slate of white paper that was already out for him and the black capless marker in her hand. _"You want me to write my name out? You can't understand what is it I'm saying?"_

She shamefully nodded her head and gestured the paper closer to him.

Feeling like he had no choice; he slowly took ahold of the marker and paper and carefully wrote his name. In camparison to the non-human alphabet, the human letters were so simplistic that it was confusing.  
He drew a half circle first; then a seperate long stick with a small hill at the base of it; he did another seperate hill, but this hill stopped just half-way; a small little stick with a dot this time. He continued writing his name in English until finally he finished.  
Before handing it over to her, he took a look at his hand-writing. It was scrawly and almsot resembled the printed letters seen on the little sheets of children's drawings that he saw in the garbage. He felt disgusted with his writing, but he knew it was the only thing that she would be able to understand.

_"..Christopher Johnson..."_ she repeated almost breathlessly with her whistling so faint. Although, if there was a literal translation for her whistling and blows, his name would've sounded something like _'Creeeky Far Joes In'._ Her tongue bounced against the roof of her mouth, producing that hollow sound._  
"Something to do with Jesus?"_ she asked. Though it sounded more like she knew but only wanted to hear the answer from him.

_"Yeah... how do you know?"_

"_Christopher. Christ. Jesus Christ. Jesus was the Son of God. You knew that?"_

_"I did."_ he replied proudly. He told her that when he first arrived to Earth, he had read 2 books and one of them had been the Bible for Christians. She sounded impressed that he had been able to read the bible for she explained that she never got the will power to get past the first 5 pages.

But her surprise turned to curiosity, "_What else besides the Bible?"_

_"The Princess and the Frog."_ he answered timidly.

_"Good story."_ she commented. She sighed and whistled loud, looking at him so tiredly like she tried so hard not to laugh at him._ "Now know who to pray for..... Christopher_."

They passed the beam of a large metal sign; its message warning in English "Danger. You are about to enter restricted area. District 9 ahead."  
He felt nerved that she would have to pass such a sign but luckily she didn't seem disturbed by the fact that she was about to enter into dangerous territory again.

_"Are you religious?"_ he asked her. He was suddenly struck by the memory of his first doctor -Dr Chun-Fen- and he remembered how passionate she was about the feats of Jesus Christ. She was the one who had read the bible out loud to him after all when he was stuck in the hospital room. There were a few times when they would stay across from each other and she would twiddle with the carved wooden cross that hung around her neck on a rosary; she would mumble small words and when he asked what she was talking about, she would respond that she was praying.  
_"Would you pray for me?"_ he had asked her then. And she had replied that she wasn't sure if she could.  
He remembered how hurt he felt when she told him that. But to hear that the woman at his side wanted to know his name so that she could pray for him was enough to disappait that unfond memory.

She laughed her mute laugh and said with pursed lips, _"Never heard a prawn say that word. Never thought they knew it."_

He wanted to teach her. He wanted to let her be well informed that it wasn't prawn; it was non-human. His hand clanked against the metal fence and she jumped startled at the sudden action. He hoped he didn't scare her too much.  
Christopher amended to her, "_Non-human."_

She cocked her head and did a questioning little _tweeet..._

He explained to her, _"Prawn... is a terrible term for us. It's better if we are segregated -divided- by the terms 'human' and 'non-human'."_

She nodded and did a sorrowful _wheee..._

They started walking again and they could already see the opening gate doors that had yet to be closed and locked in times of curfew. He reassured her, _"It's fine. That's just something you should know for next time."  
_They walked a little farther and they were just about a step away from seeing each other -unrestricted by fencing and metal and anything else; just standing face to face like they had long ago.

She reached out her thin fingers to the post standing straight at the doorway and swung in like she was dancing. Her mouth opened in giggles and for a few brief seconds, he swore he could've imagined the sweet sound of a girl's laugh like silver bells. She stopped right in front of him, his hands almost caging her for he was afraid that she would crash into his hard anthropod body. Yet he never touched her.

She clicked worrisome clicks, "_Still scared..... Can we stay at the door?"_

Christopher nodded immediately in response, though he slolwy just registered what she had asked. He thought she would think herself safe with him. But she was scared of going into District 9.. It wasn't exactly her fault; she had almost been attacked in broad daylight and he assumed the night was feeding her fear of the non-humans.  
The native woman looked up demurely at him. she held the jacket up. He carefully slipped his fingers under the nylon-like material over her warm hands. Christopher felt her stiffen under his touch and he was nerved again by the fact that this woman -though brave for entering back into District 9 and interacting with him again- was still afraid of non-humans. She seemed oblivious to his thoughts and as soon as he held onto the jacket, she shot her hands back at her side. She whistled and motioned with her hands; palm up and rising in a pendulum motion towards him.

_"You want me to try it right now?"_ he asked her, wanting to be sure that he did everything right and wouldn't offend her.

She nodded eagerly and gestured again. It was odd how the jacket appeared to be oversized for her when she clutched it to herself like a lover's form, but when he wore it, it ended right around his lower hands. Still, it was a good fit with the sleeves going at mid-arm. The fabric inside felt fluffy and soft, so nice and gentle, though it almost gave him an itching fit from wearing something like that compared to the usual starchy things he wore.  
He touched the jacket, it really did feel so nice and the emotion that it envoked in him made him almost want to cry. His gaze from the shiny red went to the woman again; he was taken aback to see a scrunched up look on her expressive face._ "What is it?"_ he clicked.

She whistled a long drawling whistle.

_"What?"_ he repeated himself.

_"Doesn't fit."_ she told him.

_"It does. It fits very well."_ He pinched a small bit of the outer fabric with his long green fingers and tugged gently. _"There's a lot of space in it." _

_"Too short."_ echoed the clicking of her tongue along with her palm towards him and her other hand on its side slicing across her palm. It resembled as a sort of 'time-out'. _"Thought it would be perfect size for you when I bought."_

There was another silence. It was mostly odd to speak with somebody who was mute and communicated with the weirdest sounds and a dirty old notebook. It was even odder to speak to someone that you had to stay away from. Now... he wanted to know her name. She knew his name, yet he didn't know hers. It wasn't fair. He considered just asking her for her name, but thought that suddenly asking would sound too random. He could try and trick her to reveal her name, though that would make him seem like a freak. Christopher thought it over and decided how to obtain her name and he wittily asked her,_ "I want to thank you, but I don't know your name."_  
Her eyes widened as though she had suddenly been pinched but then a relaxed look came over her. She pointed to herself and clicked something out with her tongue. He couldn't understand what she was saying.  
_"Sorry, can you say that again?"_ he asked her.  
She furrowed her brows again and took a deep breath. Her mouth opened wide and long, but he still couldn't comprehend what it was she was trying to say. He cocked his head and was about to ask her to repeat it one last time when she suddenly held up one hand and picked up her notebook to write in it again. She stood closer to him -side by side- so that he could read as she was writing, in lieu of waiting for her to finish. With quick downward motions she wrote in a slanted font a strange word;

**Abeni Marik**

He didn't know what to say until re-reading over it again and again in his head. He finally understood. _"Abeni.... Abeni... Abeni Marik! That's your name, right?"_  
She smiled a canine smile and nodded excitedly. On the same sheet, she wrote in little bubbly words where some of the spaces for the curved lines were blacked out and he had to go with his intuition to read it. It wasn't one of her best writing moments. His golden eyes scanned over the little space of spreading black words and he asked her, _"But you don't want me to call you that? Is that right? You don't want me to call you that?"_  
She shook her head and wrote another word for him. her wrist moved in fluent circles; her fingers bending like they were dancing and her skin folded at all the right creases and joints. This time, the word was more curvy in a flowery sort of text. The black lines grew full at curves and then thin at straight lines. There seemed to be a sort of glow on the paper around the second single word.

**Fumnanya**

_"Fumnanya?"_ he asked. She nodded again, tapping on the new word._ "It's a name, right?"_

She nodded, clicking out a simple word, "_Yes."_

_"You want me to call you this?" _

_"Yes."_ she repeated with clicking noises.

_"It's a very nice name."_ he complimented.

They stood there at the gates like strangers; twiddling with their fingertips and looking all around except each other. He wondered why it was so hard to try and talk to her. Every question could be taken wrongly while some questinos could be too deep for small talk or just a conversation piece. She suddenly looked up to the sky and said, "Late."

He asked her what she meant by that. The glazed look over her eyes and the dull expression that was on her heart-shaped face scared him; perhaps she saw someone sighting the both of them together.

_"Late for work."_ she told him. She kept looking over her shoulder and he imagined in his proud ego that perhaps she didn't want to leave him but had no choice. She would rather stay with him than go.

The look on her face seemed like she was in a sort of turmoil. She turned away from him, her back to him, and the pattern of the back pack almost making fun of him in an insane way. She was writing something apparently. He saw the way the fabric of the hoodie twisted to almost resemble the lines of a turned twisting head and he heard the scritch-scratching of the felt marker tip over the old paper. Abeni... Fumnanya.... looked very secretive about what she was writing, he wondered what could it be exactly. Her elbows jutted out at strange angles and her wild hair that could not have been tamed by the hoodie looked be to getting bigger and bigger. How she fidgeted and how her torso would stretch over a side as her elbow came up in a sweeping motion made him feel nervous and almost lascivious for watching her write. It seemed like something that was private and not fit to be seen by a man's eyes. He remembered watching her write on tin with all those exagerated movements where her hand looked much farther than where the letters started and ended.  
In her dance of literature and writing, her hoodie suddenly flipped back and the mop-top of hair sprung up.

He flinched at the sight of all that springy hair on her head. He pondered if she ever combed that hair or perhaps broke a few brushes trying to get the bristles through those thick locks. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to really touch it. He wanted to run his long plated fingers through that hair and confirm whether or not his fingers would be trapped in it like a bug on a spider's translucent web. It was so weird to see that sort of hair on a human's head.

He stepped closer to her and asked, "_What are you writing there?"_

She turned around and the gleam from her brown eyes and the shine of the emerald colouring from that dark ashy skin suddenly made her loook almost savage instead of etheral as he would've recalled. She quickly raightened her posture and tore out what she was writing with a long scratchy _rriiipp_.  
She handed it to him; her small ashy human hand almost being swallowed up by his 3 alien fingers. She laughed silently and went away. She waved to him and he couldn't help but wave back. She ran away quick like a jackrabbit who had narrowly just escaped and vowed never to be caught there again.

The skies were already darker than before and her dark form disappeared all too quickly behind a corner away from District 9. He wished her safety in getting to where she had to be. He looked down at the note and read it with utmost care. Re-reading each line and burning it into his brain to remember. He felt his stomach drop to his knees and his hearts jumping all around his chest cavity;

**Christopher Johnson,  
I really like you as a friend and I hope you think of me as a friend too. I'm so glad to have met you. I hope that the next time I come, we will have more time to talk and learn more about each other. I'll come by whenever I can to say hi.  
If you're still cold from the jacket the next time I see you, I'll bring you a scarf after. **

**love, Fumnanya**

He scrunched the note in his 3 fingered hand and touched the jacket that was certainly going to keep him warm. He was suddenly feeling hungry and he felt that it would only be satified by crunchy cow bones and a nice can of catfood.

* * *

_"Fumnanya -she called herself Fumnanya. In the tongue on Earth, 'Abeni' means 'You asked for her, and behold, you got her.' so you can see why she didn't want me to call her that." he tells with some sort of humour on his voice. _

_A few chuckles scatter around from the crowd. He laughs as he recalls her shy expression not too long after that meeting when he slipped up and called her 'Abeni' instead of 'Fumnanya'. She had laughed and scolded at him to never call her that. So curious as to why such a perfectly suitable name wouldn't be cherished by her, he nagged her to tell him what was so awful about the name. She told him it was the meaning it presented. He persisted in asking her what could it possibly mean that was so horrid. Fumnanya finally confided in him that her name meant 'You asked for her, and behold, you got her'. He had laughed at the irony of the name; when he had been waiting for her and wishing, he finally got her. _

_A young poleepkwa asks hesitantly, almost nervous if asking it would be too stupid, while raising his dark yellow arm, "And what did Foomnannie mean in Earthen language?" _

_"Her name was Fumnanya." he corrects. "In the Earthen language, it means..."  
He again recalls another memory of the human woman. After she had told him her most embarrassing secret, she told him the meaning of her second name. With wide eyes that were mesmerizing and a smile that begged to be traced by an artist's fingertips or better yet, lips, she uttered, "Love me." His green face turns red as he remembers that he had mistaken the meaning for her name as her telling him to love her.  
".. it means 'Love Me.'" _

_A light romantic sigh passes from a few in the crowd. One asks with ardency in the voice, though like an unsure suiter, "And... did you love her?" _

_Before he can respond to the question, his son stumbles over to him and sighs with his baby blue eyes shining brightly from the light of the 3 moons, "Father, I'm so tired. Can we go to sleep now?" _

_He is slightly embarrassed that his son would walk over to him and say out loud that he wanted to go to sleep. But he finds it endearing to see his child look so innocent and simple, although his child could already assemble a small ship if he wanted to and knew all about the truths of wrath and revenge. __He picks up his son's little form and tells all, "My young one is tired. I think it's best if we call it a night and continue this another time."  
__He rubs his son's bare back and walks off. _

_Asaedayu rises, "Here, let me show you both to your rooms!"_

* * *

**That was chapter 4. I hope you enjoyed reading. I hope I have stayed true to their characters. Please review and tell what you did like and what you didn't like about the chapter so far. Thank you for waiting so patiently. I also did a bit of research and found out that there's a rugby team in Johannesburg called The Lions -though it was originally called The Cats- and the team colours are red and white. Looking at pictures of Christopher of deviantart and google, I noticed that the yellow wasn't part of his vest, but it was yellow duct tape. So... there's a little bit of a back story where his red vest came from and how it started. Neat, huh. So his red jacket was originally a gift from Fumnanya.**

**I'm sort of at a blank for what Christopher and Fumnanya could do whenever they meet, so if you have any preference as to what you want to see/read in the next chap, please tell me in your review.**

**I'm taking oneshot requests.... if you know what that means. wink, wink, nudge, nudge**

* * *


	5. Smiling

**Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.**

**Oh, do you guys want to hear something ironic and funny that could ever only happen to me?**

**On the 22nd, my mom and dad got me.... the District 9 dvd!  
I was so excited and I wanted to watch it so badly, however I was to go to a get-together with my friends in just a few more hours and before that I would have to stop by my uncles' place. My dad told me to bring the dvd since he thought that we could all watch it at their house. I brought it over, but we spent most of the time talking and discussing books like Asimov's or East of Eden. Anyway, my mom suggested that I should let my uncles borrow the dvd so that they could watch it because I wouldn't have time anyway tonight to watch it (Incidently, I got back from the get together at around 11:30 pm). **

**I lent it to them and they said that they would swing on by tomorrow and return it to me.  
They didn't.  
The next day, they still didn't.  
The day after that, they didn't.  
In fact, they left for Toronto on Christmas Day.****  
So right on Boxing Day, my mom and I drove all the way to Kanata from Ottawa to get a single dvd. So it's ironic that my dad had said I shouldn't have opened the dvd from its packaging before Christmas, but I end up waiting until the day after Christmas day to watch it. **

**On a sadder note, Boxing Day had really crappy weather of which I secretly blame my uncles and my dad for but still my mother didn't like to see me sad without watching the dvd and always look at the calender, so she left in the morning to drive through freezing rain all the way in the countryside to get it for me. I cried because a mother's determination can be touching and scary at the same time. I was so scared that she would get hurt and I told her that it didn't matter to me as long as she was safe, I could wait another day or week. But she couldn't take my little depression so she left to go get it for me. I love my mother so much and each day, I'm thankful for her.**

**My sister on the other hand..... nice and all, but I wish she could be mute as Fumnanya; what a dream that would be.**

**To Toni America; what's a "Night Walker"? You mentionned it in a review for chapter 1.**

* * *

_The room is dusty almost, with faint circles on the ground that resembles something like foot-prints. The glass is gone from the windows, the montiors have been cracked and broken to pieces. There are only primitive instruments that are used for the most basics of math and sciences. All their technology that have been the most advanced are reduced to rubble and twisted cord. Stained metal of dark orange, greying black and dingey white decorate the top of the entire area. It is cold, almost metallic, a place where thoughts and ideas only existed and people were only there as puppets. But the light pours in from the window. The florescents above provide an eerie light glow to everything._

_Chistopher Johnson, Vartickes-Trist 8-3 1001010010 as he's known on the Mother Planet, sits at a table, it's like an island in a sea of keyboards and dials around him. He actually writes -not type- his findings and musings on the scratchy material that they used as paper. The People, the Poleepkwa, have only been thriving for about the last decade after they were sure the Red Sickness had passed on and the chance of infection was lower.  
Since his return, they are all trying to help him, to help themselves restore their once-great civilization. There are no Whole-beings for the time now. There are no scientists. There are no philosophers. There are no soldiers. There are only farmers and workers.  
He misses the old days when their kind was striving for dominance and advancement._

_He plans what he is to do. Perhaps an invasion is called to order. But if he does invade, would he take mankind as slaves as they did to his kind for almost 3 decades?  
Would he instead just blow up the whole planet?  
Maybe taking it over as another piece for their planet would be an option?  
Now if he is to go for a rescue mission, how many ships would he need and would soldiers be neccessary? Perhaps robots?  
He is unsure of that so far. He still wonders..... Many of them have been turned into savages to survive. Many of them are being experimented on. Could there be a chance of rehabilitation for them? Could he undo the barbaric treatments and bring them back into civilization that he himself is fortunate to still have after years of brutality?  
He plans on how to bring the civilization back on its feet, standing taller than ever. It will not be easy, he realizes. It will be difficult to bring back the days of yore._

_Suddenly, his ponderings are melted away like sand on the coast by his child's happy chirping like an Earthen bird._

_He runs in, his pattering footsteps echoing in the enormous laboratory. "Father!" he trills out loud._

_The large green Poleepkwa pushes away his work and backs up his chair, creating a pathway allowing acess for his young one to climb onto his lap. Oliver jumps up with enthusiasm and childish delight. He wears the formal sno and bright yellow robes that cover his shoulders and thin arms. He swings the long excess of fabric around like it is a net and the swooping noise fills the room.  
Vartikes compliments, "You're looking very sharp this morning."_

_Oliver giggles with high growls and points with a tiny hand to the small patterning at the hems of the sleeves, "Look, the moons and the suns are on here!"_

_"Yes, yes. It's very nice." He looks closer at his son's hand and notices the browning ragged socks that he wore as gloves are still worn by him._

_He supposes that although he is glad to have left Earth, he still misses the planet where he spent almost all his life on. He is sentimental just as he is, sporting the rags that marked them as slaves to the White Man on the blue and green planet. He pats his son's head lovingly and turns back to his work, still with Oliver sitting in his lap.  
As he writes, the scribbling and scratching sound of the thin Thyngea wood strands brushing and glopping onto the paper, Oliver suddenly asks curiously, "Father, why did they call you that?"_

_He stops writing and sets the utensil down with a subtle tap on the wooden-like table.  
"They call me what?" he asks. His son fidgets in his lap and positions himself that they are facing each other eye to eye. His long thin antennas tap against his father's brow and it tickles._

_"I heard them call you 'Vartickes' and 'Trist'. What do those mean?"_

_He wonders why his son would ask such a question and remembers that during all their talks of their culture back on Earth, he had never once brought up the usage of names. "Well, 'Trist' is a rank that I earned a long time ago when I was here. It is an honorable rank that one would be proud to have and when you grow up, you shall have it from me. But 'Vartickes' is what I was called when I still lived here. It is my real name and it is...." he hesitates trying to recall the fact that he did indeed have a father a very long long time ago, "and it is your grandfather's name, and his father's name and so on. For as much as I know, I have carried on the name of my fore-fathers."_

_His baby-blues widen even more, "Grandfather?"  
Vartickes cocks his head, his thick plates neck cracking as he does so. Of course, he has never known a thing about earlier generations other than parents. His mother had no relations to be called grandmother, grandfather and so on. As for him, he offered nothing of that sort other than friends and others who he could trust. He realizes the idea of someone older -literally someone who had given life to his father- is foreign to him and it had never crossed his mind until today.  
Oliver continues asking, "Where is he now? Will I meet him today?"_

_He does not know how to tell his son the unfortunate part of it with that adorable look boring into him. But he tries nonetheless, he does not really believe in lying, especially to one who trusts you so much. "Not today, Oliver. You won't meet him.... ever."_

_His eyes -if possible- grows wider and he chirps sadly, "Why is that?"_

_Vartickes takes in a deep breath and prepares to give a thorough enough answer, "Young one, do you remember when your sister left us?"_

_He nods, "Yes, I remember." _

_"Well.... do you still recall the reason why she left?"_

_"She found a mate and he wanted her to live with him."_

_That is half the reason, but he does not want to tell his son just that. He wants to tell him everything, "Yes, that was part of the reason. But the main reason why she left us was because she was all grown up. It's tradition for a mature adult poleepkwa to leave the home of the parents and embark on their own lives. It's a traditional of our people called 'Cutting the Hnindai'."_

_"Was that why you told Sherry that she could never come back? You weren't angry with her for choosing that guy you didn't really like?"_

_"Yes, that was the real reason. But I couldn't oppose who her mate was to be, she was grown up and it was her own choice." he closes his eyes and thinks of his daughter that he never saw again after she left him that day on the hill of garbage and metal. He wonders if she is still strong and still alive. He regrets not trying to find her when they left to go on to the mother ship. He regrets not allowing her to join Pro-Forma when she wanted to, for fear that she would get hurt or killed. It is a strange thing to pretend that you have no child and try not to interfere in their lives or care when you so want to and you still love them very much._

_Oliver's taps on his breathing chest cavity and asks, "How come Sherry and me weren't named 'Vartickes' like you, father? You were named after your father and he was named after his father; so.... wouldn't Sherry and me be named 'Vartickes' too?"_

_His attention goes back to the child that is still so small and helpless, "You would've been, at least you because I fathered you, Sherry would've been named.... Reol because her father was named that. But on Earth, remember, MNU assigned our names and if we spoke our tue names, they would've killed us."_

_Oliver nods and then asks him, "But why are you named after the person before you? Why not something different?"_

_He opens his mouthparts to answer, but realizes the answer is not in his mind. He doesn't know the reason why. He knows why a child must leave home when they are grown up and that it is usually custom that off-spring carry their parent(s) name in some way, but he does not really know the reason for carrying on a parent's name. "I don't know."_

_"You don't?"_

_"No."_

_It's quiet for the time being. Oliver asks for some paper to draw on and a writing utensil. His father relinquishes it to him without a moment of hesitation. As he continues writing and his son continues to draw on his lap, a small group of new adults walk in, some he can recognize from last night when they heard the first part of his story. He continues to write, finishing his final thought until he looks up to the crowd before him. "Hello, are you looking... for something?" _

_They stand before him and there is an awkward silence, filled by the scribblings and gloppings of the pen on paper by Oliver.  
Finally, an adult pollepkwa with yellow spots and a mossy green body speaks up, "I... we..... would you tell us more about.... 'humans'?" _

_"You want to know more about humans?" he clicks out._

_They all nod eagerly and Vartickes sits back in his chair, his arms instinctively wrapping around Oliver's little form and drawing him closer and stroking his back, "What is it you want to know about them exactly?"  
He thinks that he has told them enough about the humans, but apperently that are not satisfied with it. They want to know about something that is unknown to them and perhaps that they will never see in their excelled lifetime. Perhaps it is better to live on in a world where space travel is possible, but completely useless. _

_A look of excitement sparks from a few of them and the bombardment of questions commences. "Were they really as savage as you told us?" _

_"Well, a lot of them were. The humans that hung around the slums were unbelievable not the most savage ones. The most savage ones were not the ones toting guns around, but the ones in black suits with the power in a pen and their signature." He recalls the MNU agents who had always walked around District 9 every few months or weeks to inspect that none were hiding weapons. He remembers the chills that he felt when he saw the cold icy gaze of the officials in thei white shirts and black slacks that were well tailored compared to the reflective black masks of the soldiers and mercenaries who stood amongst them. Perhaps he felt the mercenaries were actually safer because he could not see their faces and identify them as human or perhaps he liked to have imagined then that they were simply unfeeling robots who followed orders. Still, the thought that Brains had ruled all in MNU scares him still. _

_"Did they burn everybody? Alive?" There is a sound of doubt in the voice, as though this one does not believe that such inhumane things could be done to a living creature and being. _

_His eyes cast down sadly as he recalls the scenes of shacks of poleepkwa young being burned alive and the faces of the stricken poleepkwa parents crying and sobbing in agony. The room suddenly feels both light and heavy with his response. "Yes... they did." _

_The silence is almost unbearable but there is a sense of guilt with it. It is as though they pay their respects for these unknown pollepkwa who were not careful or lucky enough in life or who did not even have a chance in life. _

_Another speaks up, "These humans.... what they did they look like exactly?" _

_"Exactly?" he inquires._

_"Yes." they all say at once. _

_His antennas and feelers twitch up and down and his pincers make quizical clicks on his mandibles and mouthparts, "Isn't it enough to use your imagination? What generation is this that you have to depend and rely on images to know?" _

_A few laugh at the joke of 'them young folk', but some seriously answer, "Your descriptions of the humans in your stories are well, but we want to **see** to know what exactly they resemble. They sound so strange in your tellings. Like... they did not have the pincers on their mouths?" _

_He shakes his head. _

_"Nor do they have the abdominal arms?"_

_He shakes his head once more._

_"How do they even sense without the Quadaps-antennas?"_

_"They have noses." he answers very quickly. _

_"Noses?" _

_Of course they would now know about human anatomy like that. Even they lack noses and their pincers and antennas served as the human equivalence for them. Their mouth parts and hands were extra sensitive as well in lieu of the lack of nerves over their exoskeletons. All of a sudden, Oliver in his arms points to the table and paper that he had been working on. He trills with a delightful little sound that he finds his son more endearing if possible and his baby blues close in as the muscles and joints of his face spreads throughout his skull in what would seem as a Poleepkwan smile. But the thought of his son being infantile washes away like sands on beachy waters when he regards with great awe and almost fear at what his son had produced in mere moments. _

_It is a picture. _

_The picture looks more than a picture; a looks like a moment of life had been cut out and pasted right there for all to see. The figure is a woman. This woman has long straight hair that curls right at the very tips down her spine and almost carresses the flesh. She gazes up into the skies above with wet water dripping down her face and form. As far as he can tell, she is naked. Nude. Bare and shows all to everybody who can see it. Her face is at profile and she appears familiar to him. But he daren't name her. He does not believe that his son could remember her face, her body, her unmistakable thoughtless expression like that.  
With an expression of pure relief and ease, a small smile is seen and her hands, palm up, are held out. The curve of her belly potrudes out and her buttocks almost sag with aging flesh although there are no wrinkles and her breasts are not too low. The strokes from the ink varies from full shadows to thin delicate lines. He can almost recognize this scene; he can by the background of shoddy looking shacks that have been almost illuminated by sweet rain water and dirtied by moss at the base.  
He can swear that he's seen this woman in this state long ago, but he is unsure if it was a dream at that time or merely a hallucination. The picture is life like. His hearts almost beat faster and he wants to cry at seeing this fresh scene. His eyes follow from the slope of her thighs to the round bulbous forms of her ass and fleshy stomach -not too fat, but certainly not thin, her small breasts, to the long bow of her neck stretching upwards. _

_His hand reaches out to grasp the picture and he holds it up. He looks at his son who stares at him with those baby-blues. He directs it to the crowd of Poleepkwa. They all gasp and marvel at it. "Trist! Is... is that what a human looks like?" _

_He nods his head and they comment upon the piece that had unfortunately been drawn on aging stained paper. _

_Their voice mixes together, "......They're so strange....... Do they all look like that with all those curves and stumpy limbs?...... How can they have so many fingers like that? Doesn't it get in the way?........ They're so fat........ There's so many strands on their heads............ They're so hairy!........ Their eyes are small; can they see at all?.......... What tiny little mouths........... How can you defend yourself with a body like that?............ Do they walk around naked all the time?...... They look so barbaric...... They seem rather lascivious to be flaunting a deformed body like that..... Disgusting!......"  
One reaches his ears and he delights in hearing it, "Actually he looks rather nice, beautiful almost." _

_He corrects, "It is a 'her'." _

_"Her?" _

_"A maternal figure." he puts in terms that they can relate to.  
In their hermaphroditic nature of Poleepkwan beings, it is difficult to truly label one as male or female. All are male when they have not yet reached adulthood nor have attained a mate. All are female when they are in heat and are at the age to be able to produce young. Finally, they are given roles to how they affect their youngs' lives; paternal when they teach and maternal when they care. He has played both parts in his life so far. Maternal to his second child, and paternal for his first. He continues, "And yes.... **she's beautiful**." _

_He points at her breasts, "This is a human maternal being. This is where she feeds her young when they are born and one of the methods of how she attracts a mate in the first place." It is not entirely true with the over simplification of breasts, but it almost sums up human hormones.  
He points to her lower region of her ass and vagina, "She will bear young and only she would be able to. Her mating partner will not be able to produce young himself, not carry it during incubation, and upon conceiving it, but he will aid in creating the life. Both partners are needed, none can produce off-spring themselves." _

_"How strange..... how do they **do it**?" _

_"Pardon." he chokes on his own tongue. _

_The young poleepkwa asks, "How do they **do it**? Reproduce -mate?" _

_"The same as us, with..." he looks down at his son who looks confused with the matters of sex and mating. "That is not something to speak of now. I can tell you what happens next in my story if you want." _

_The silence is awkward, almost feigning disappointment. But they all agree to have him continue the tale of his time on Earth._

* * *

She didn't show up the next day or the next week.

Again, it had been the next month that he saw her again.

He was in the district again and had been scavenging through the trash for his next meal when he heard a sort of whistle. It was not the whistles of the woman Abeni -Fumnanya, he kept reminding himself. Her whistles had been full and almost unhalting, while these whistles were high pitched and projected a kind of hollow tone. If anything, the sounds were more irritating than haunting. He wondered who could be whistling like that; it couldn't have been another mute person like Fumnanya. He continued digging for something remotely edible to his kind that had not been tainted with medical waste or any chemicals that often wound up in the trash. The most he had been able to find were banana peels, old empty cans with jagged ends, and the occasional greasy wrapper which he started growing accostumed to.

He continued hearing the whistles all through out the day that it both burned at his ears and beckoned to him. As he dug through the trash, he kept on the jacket that she had given to him. He didn't want it getting completely soiled in trash and sweat, but he couldn't risk it taking it off and having another Prawn steal it or even eat it. Besides, he thought if he wore it, she would've been able to recognize him with ease.  
The second time when she had saw him, she had mistaken another prawn for him and even tried to communicate with it to ask it about him. He supposed that with the jacket as almost a red flag, she wouldn't be put in that predictment for the next time and could come straight to him.

From the morning he had dug through the trash for his first meal then he had dug through for his scavenging of remnents of the Alien Spacecraft that MNU had by miraculous chance overlooked and contained some concentrate fuel. On and off for most of the day he would hear that whistling sound carrying something of a broken tune. It was not particularily the greatest thing he ever heard, nor was it starting to be very pleasant. Christopher soon wondered where and how a noise could be found in District 9 where even all the radio offered to them was static. His curiosity urged for him to just take a minute or 2 out of his time and find out what could be the source of it.  
The little voice goaded him that perhaps it could be something worthwhile and he would only slap himself later for not taking that chance to seek it out.  
On the other hand, his logic and fidelity to the task at hand warned him if he did go off to try and find it and see that it was nothing, it would be moments that could never be earned back.

When the sun was high in the sky and everything turned golden in the yellow rays, he got fed up; not by his curiosity, but by how much louder the noise was growing and more discordant the notes and tunes were becoming. He placed the objects that he had found to keep and to go through later in his bucket and made sure that they were well secured inside with no risk of anything falling out. He carefully listened to where more of the harsh and flat notes that made him wince was coming from. Through the crowds of gambling Prawns and humans, the huts that were occupied by loitering gang members of a new Non-Human movement that called themselves Pro-Forma, and the bustling busy Prawns that sold their trash along with the humans that sold their rotting meat and cans of cat food; he found the source.

Right next to an oversized man whose eyebrows were bushy and covering most of his eyes and worked cutting raw cows apart with selling canned cat food on the side of his business sat Abeni.... Fumnanya, actually.

She wore greying blue jeans that appeared old and well-worn. Over the close-fitting jeans was a red and black t-shirt with a small insignia over the left breast, the sleeves covered her arms to her elbows and the collar folded outwards, though it was bent at all the wrong places and made it look like she had simply thrown the shirt into a closet or a drawer and then pulled it out without straightening it. All in all, it looked like the sort of bowling shirt that he saw the other humans in the District wear and hanging up on the clotheslines in town. Her long hair was pulled back into a bun that pulled on all strands on the side of her head, making it look rounder, and the bun itself weaved and bobbed into each other that it was difficult to tell where it began and where it ended. It seemed like she didn't know he was standing right in front of her.

Almost by pure instinct and a sort of urging that came to him, he quickly took off his jacket; rolling it up into a crumpled heap and stuffing it into the buckeet in his other hand.  
'_See? Wasn't it worth it?"_ a little voice asked him inside his cranium.  
He wanted to run to her and ask her where had she been for the last month. At the same time, he was shamefully embarrassed to go up to her and ask and expect an answer that would stroke his ego. Christopher immediately tried to destroy the little fantasy act that went on in his head about what she would say to him -rather, what she would write to him. He was stuck motionless in front of her as both prawns and humans passed between the 2 of them. He wondered if he should make the first move and approach her while he imagined perhaps she would feel more comfortable to decide whether or not to acknowledge him instead of talk to him out of obligating thanks for the first time he had saved her.

Not wanting to be in anyone's way and having the chance of starting a fight that he would definitely not want to finish or be a part of, he went off into the sidelines and watched her from a close distance that if she did in fact spot him, he could immediately jump into a pose that would have almost anyone believe he had simple been around and the meeting itself was coincidental. He watched her as she pointed to a newspaper that she had clenched in her hand. She laughed her silent laugh at something as the burly butcher next to her mumbled something close to her ear.  
She yawned. Frequently. He counted that she had yawned a total of 16 times. He didn't know how long indeed he had stood every so often for like an idiot watching her, but he did indeed stay there and wait in hope that she would look up and wave to him.

He sat in mounds of broken wood and watched her. Like a young adult watching prey or a likely mate.  
The big black butcher next to her with the widening gut leaned over to her and kissed her slobberly on her forehead all of a sudden, where her hairline started and rose. He stepped forward and his foot moved slightly back after. What was he thinking? What reason did he have to suddenly step in and ask just what it was she was doing?  
He studied the butcher.  
The butcher definitely wasn't handsome by either non-human or human standards. He looked rather old as well, perhaps nearing his 50s than being close to his own 40s and big puffy bags appeared evidently under his petit eyes. The scruffy beard around his pink fish lips was stained with grey hair and bits of spit and drool. His clothes as well -that weren't covered by the bulletproof vest he was wearing- looked stained and 6 sizes too big for him. From a distance, he could hear the brash loudness in the man's voice and speech and smell the scent of aging alchohol and nicotine off of him. In all bare honesty, he couldn't see or imagine what reason as to why Ab.... why she would be interested in an old man such as him.

He felt something in him tear up and he couldn't decide to just stay still in debris where he felt that he suddenly belonged or to go back to the edges of the District to look for more Concentrate Fuel. It was just as he stood up that he heard the strange whistling again. Not being able to resist, he turned around to see what in fact had been its source. His eyes turned to where he thought it had came from but his golden eyes were locked with her mixed green and brown ones.

She spotted him.

He stood still from where he was, the bucket clenched in his hands and his knees together like someone embarrassed or shy. He felt all the more naked with her eyes boring into him like he was a bug under a microscope. He had since abandonned the rags that covered his upper torso when she gave him that red jacket and was still looking for something he could wear that would be equivalent to pants. Taking off the red jacket swiftly felt like the dumbest idea he had thought of and he wondered why exactly in the first place he had been possessed to do it.  
She waved to him eagerly with a wide smile as her full lips peeled back to show pink gums and white teeth. With slipping feet, she stumbled getting up from her sitting position that she had stayed next to the butcher and headed towards him. However, just before she left him, she kissed him with bunched lips on the hill of his cheek.

He wasn't sure what the feeling he had evolved into. At first, he found himself literally in the dumps at seeing her with the butcher, then an almost shy relief when she noticed him and smiled with such amity, finally there was the nauseous confusion in his gut when she headed for him but not before kissing the butcher first. Even with her lips in a round _O_, he could see the edges of her mouth curve up into a sort of smile.  
She whistled "_Hello_." to him.

He greeted back with stuttering clicks that were long and paused, "_Hi..... N-Nice day, isn't it?"_

She asked him what he had been up to.

He replied that he had been working as usual with the mines.

Her cat eyes moved up and down his body, almost scouring him with strange intimidation. She whistled, _"Where is it?"_

He growled out a response, "_Where's what?"_

She pointed to her chest, then to his upper torso. He still didn't understand what it was she had been asking him.

"_What do you mean?"_ he demanded.

"_Jacket."_ she verified simply.

His head jumped back slightly, his neck cracking like dried bread and he held the bucket up feebly. The red jacket was a crumpled mess and already it was stained with smearings of dirt and dust. She looked in with widening eyes and whistled a quizzical tweeet.

She clicked almost anxiously against the roof of her mouth, the tone was angry and irritated, "_Why? Don't like it?"_

He shook his head, his antennas bouncing in all directions and he lied, _"I didn't want to get it dirty while I scavenged for food and clothes-"_

_"Foshbits?"_ she interrupted with slipping and jumbled clicks and whistles.

He was silent for a second and then came a deep gurgling laugh. _"Excuse me? What? What was that?"_ he asked with laughter clear on his face and joints. She pouted her lips and desperately tried to click out what she had meant, but then it came back as something close to gibberish. _"What are you trying to say?"  
_She hit him on the hand in mock anger, though at the same time he could see the caution in her gaze as her eyes directed to his feet and hands. _"I'm sorry.... Why.... why don't you try to write it down."_

Just like magic, she reached behind her back and produced the same worn out notebook he recognized from before. On the metal coil spine, she had conveniently attached a string with a pen. With pouring ink that spilled too fast and too much, she dragged the black puddles against the chafing paper and it brushed into each other creating something like seashells in the words.

**Clothes?**

He figured that was what she was trying to say. But it had been too tempting to laugh since he hadn't had an excuse to laugh for a very long time.  
_"Well, I ripped my pants a few weeks ago and I've been looking for a pair that could cover me or at least stay on me."_

She touched him.

He flinched at her touching him.

Her hand gripped his thigh tight... almost like it was hers to do whatever she wanted and she didn't care if he knew it or not. She traced the length with her palm as though she believed that touching him would suddenly tell her everything she wanted to know about him. He suddenly felt all his appendages getting weighed down by some unseen force that he couldn't explain. He had never felt such a strange sensation; a fear that something would be seen and frighten the girl, a shy giddiness at having contact, a shamefulness that he had openly allowed her to stroke his thighs and a lewd sense that he was glad she had simply done it and not asked him -for someone to touch him so. Her hand was like a shadow on his leg, so dark compared to his leaf green and so flat as opposed to the round cylindrical mould of the limb.  
To him, she seemed to be one who never thought ahead and tended to rush almost too often; running into the District with an armful of catfood, coming to see him after, and now treating him as though he were no different from a cat or dog. No human he knew would've dared to place a single finger on his so openly.  
Now that he thought about it, it had certainly been a long time since he had contact with another being aside from being struck at mercilessly just because he was more weaker than them and preferred to sit down instead of run. Even his doctor had been quite hesitant about touching him when he and his kind first came down to Earth.

He debated on placing a hand on her as well, to make contact, to show that it was okay to touch him. But then he realized that if he were to touch her back for no particular reason, she would see it as offense and run back to the butcher perhaps. He stayed motionless and allowed her to touch him like he very well could've been her pet. It was strange to see the hand that moved like water and lightning all at once suddenly move so sensually and slowly that it was agonizing. She looked down at her own hand and back at him, he could see the disbelief in her own expression that she had touched him so quickly without hesitation. She stopped at least and removed her hand, but not before her fingertips brush lightly over his skin as she peeled her hand away.

He felt chills on his thighs move upwards to his back and resting deep into the base of his skull. He felt his pits grow hot with ire and his tongue completely useless. Christopher wondered indeed if this woman was not some seductress who found pleasure in trapping prawns for her own perverse tastes. But with such a serious look that was doubting, he dismissed the idea and thought back that this was a woman who had been attacked and he had been there to save her, nothing more. It was mere obligation that she saw him, he supposed. There was no way she would come willingly to _just _see him.  
He would not allow himself to be built up so high only to crumble into pieces that couldn't be picked up again later.

She told him, _"I'll get you pants."_

He was quick to retort, _"No, no! It's just fine! I can find something for myself!"  
'Or I can steal it._' he added in mentally.

She waved her hand in front of her as though she was literally brushing away what he had said.

_"Wouldn't your family suspect something if they saw you buying men's clothing?"_ he asked her.

She shook her head. _"Yours?"_ she whistled in her almost strangelike code to him.

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Have a...?"_ she had only started to talk when there was a blank look on her face.  
She stutted over her lips for a few moments until Christopher decided to grant her mercy and finished for her, _"Family? No, I live by myself."_

_"Lonely?"_ she inquired.

He shook his head, _"I know a few non-humans here. It's quite hard to be lonely here."_ He omitted telling her of the prostitutes that walked around the District here. _"Why? Do you?"_

She breathed through her nose; he could hear the out take of air leave through her nostrils. She whistled in what he could tell as a sad tune or perhaps he thought of it as sad. He couldn't exactly do. It could've been, Of course. It could've been that she indeed got lonely sometimes. Christopher assumed it was a melancholy answer, it was easy to leave it at that.  
Still, he wasn't exactly sure what her answer to his question was.

_"Heard this?"_ she asked him as she handed him the newspaper she had held in her hand.

He didn't even read the headline, _"You wanted to show me this?"_

She nodded her head, _"Neat story."_ she clicked and mumbled slightly.  
Fumnanya miraculously found a large concrete block that served as a makeshift bench and she sat right on the edge of it, patting the spot next to her as an obvious invitation for him to sit next to her. But he didn't want to sit too close to her and risk knocking her right off the seat and being rude like that. He joined her indeed, but sat a few feet away on the other end of the concrete block. She moved closer to him, though there were still a significant space apart. The newspaper was dated June 25th 1996. It told of bombers and a terrorist attack somewhere in a place called Saudi Arabia. She asked him what he thought about it; the idea of someone actually trying to wipe out militants (she had read it before him, she explained, while waiting to see him in the District) by bombing a place where they lived.

He looked over it for a few moments and read it to understand what it was about. It wasn't long before he slipped up and started reading it aloud to both himself and her. It was easier for him to just read the human language when he heard it spoken outloud. Every so often when he was done reading a short paragraph or a couple of lines, he would stop and ask her if he was right or some question relating to what the text had printed. She nodded and pointed to a line in response, her notebook at her side under one of her thighs and her mouth zipped shut. When he was done reading, he asked her her opinion on it, she would cock her head or gesture with her hands and he would go on discussing and repeating his own thoughts outloud for the both of them. She would still sit and nod. After a while, he thought it was an interesting aactivity to do with her, but shortly after, it got boring; fast. He stopped speaking and slowly turned his head to look at her. She looked up at him with the same liquid tilt of her head.

They were silent for a few second until Christopher broke the silence by poiting out, _"It would be interesting to have you say something too besides just nodding or cocking your head to whatever I say."_

She was quick to grab her marker and start writing on a fresh page a simple line right at the top taking about half of the space of the bars that divided the page so evenly. He watched as the words suddenly grew from the lines like plants sprouting from cool waters as it rushed to where the currents were pushing them.

**It's hard, Christopher**

He spoke back, his words a little bit more heated about her reason of not wanting to talk or make any effort at all to talk like she did before. "It cannot be that hard. If you think about it, this would be a perfect time to practice our speaking; you would be even better than some of the MNU agents who come here. Very few of them can speak non-human, let alone write it as well."

Her eyebrows cocked up and her mouth opened in what would be a silent gasp. Though it could've passed for a signature look of insult and outrage. She scribbled harder onto the paper, the strokes starting to become messy and her hand slipping every so often. He could sense it inside her; a sort of string that was getting stretched by the second to be even longer and threatening ot break.

**FYI - Isn't understanding you good enough for you?**

He had seen the 'FYI' before. And he didn't really like it or how urgently she had wrote it for him.  
_"Wouldn't you like to be able to reply to the conversations you always tend to start?"_

**Writing is pretty good. I can't handle very much.  
It's very difficult to try and speak like you.**

_"You've done well so far. Why not try to improve."_ he both complimented her and critisized her.

**It's good enough for me. You should put yourself in my shoes and understand where I'm coming from.  
You're sounding very mean right now asking a lot for me when I know I can't do it.**

He wasn't being mean! How was he being mean if he wanted to help her a bit? If anything, she was starting to sound very lazy at relying now on the pen when at first she had started to be very.... very good in trying to speak with him.  
_"If you can understand me, I don't see how hard it would be for you to imitate the language. You don't even need a voice box, really."_

**Then you speak English, Christopher.**

The little minx was quick to counter. He didn't even think of something like that. She was good, but then he would have to be better and counter her more down straight to the very basics where not even it could be argued against like why the sun shines, _"I haven't the tongue or jaws for it."_

She smirked and leaned against her elbow. He watched the words now turning more bold and jagged, like the ends of a blade. Her words were now starting to come out as a way to cut him and end it with a swift slice.

**I don't have what I need to speak like you.  
Besides, I try as much as I can and I don't know very much words.  
When I speak, I can just imagine the others here staring at me and thinking of me as a silly human who sounds stupid.**

So she had an image problem. Well, he knew the words that he read in the literal trash of books that he found in the trash, "_Who cares if you would look stupid. It doesn't matter."_

**Says you because you don't have anything that makes you feel or seem stupid to others.**

There was honestly no pleasing her. He got tired of it and simply said the first thing that came to his mind about this problem. _"Never. People who never try usually never do and are wimps."_ he jabbed at her, though he didn't mean to hurt her intentionally. He was actually happy to have a human speaking to him instead of trying to kill him or avoid him. But he only wanted what was best for her, helping her learn to speak was the best he could do for her in his current situation.

Luckily she took this in mock and smirked while playfully pouting away and crossing her arms over her chest. Then she yawned, her hand covering her mouth as she did so. Yet this time her hand lingered there longer and her eyes drooped tiredly.

_"Are you okay?"_ he asked as he gazed into those dimming eyes of hers. She nodded as she took in a second yawn, her hand waving in front of her stretching mouth and her head tilting back as well. her lids dropped like reverse arches of bridges and life suddenly appeared to be melting from her like wax from the tip of a candle flame. She stumbled on her feet and fell forward. that is to say, she appeared to be falling forward before one of her legs abruptly bent forward and she saved herself from embarrassement. her arms stretched outwards in front of her and she suddenly looked like a dog about to leap heels over itself. He drew his arms back to his sides and wondered what indeed would've happened if he had reached out for her a few seconds quicker. The thought rooted itself in his head and he shook his head to dispel it away. She looked up at him, her lips peeling back to show white teeth and she laughed a silent chuckle.  
_"You don't seem to be."_ he continued. She tsked with her lips pursed forward and her brows furrowing together.

_"Ever have tuna salad?"_ she asked him, her eyebrow quirking upwards like she had suddenly pointed out to him that she was making an effort to speak.. He was impressed. She knew how to say 'tuna salad' flawlessly, albeit the 2 words combined made a strange sound that left something to be desired and the first half was butchered enough for a non-human to never want to speak to her again.

He shook his head, tellin her that he had never tried to it. In the District, most of what he had was beef, goat, trash and the occasional catfood. He knew about tuna being a creature of Earth that was of water-marine life with a tubelike body, large lips, and thin paper limbs, but he had never seen one up close nor tasted the flesh of it.

She yawned while simuteneously scribbling something in the notebook next to her. she was quick with writing it as her wrist twitched and the joints of her fingers jumped up and down as though electricity swam though her hand. She ripped out the sheet and handed it to him. On the sheet were the same crossed messages that had been blanked out to forever erase and hide the meaning and demand of the notes. There were fading splotches on area of the sheet -he assumed that there were more crossed out messages in the back as well- and the one intact phrase that he supposed she wrote for him was way in the bottom practically squashed by the heavy content above it.

**It's salty with real pieces of fish and mayo and it has onions in it too.  
You'll like it.  
I'll bring you some to try tomorrow when I come again. (:D)**

He jumped and flipped on the inside. Not at the aspect of trying a new sort of human food, but at the middle of the note, the longest word there that virtually took up most of the space and his attention as well. Tomorrow.... Tomorrow. Tomorrow? Tomorrow..... She would be coming back again to the District tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be able to see her again. He held the message in front of him with all 6 of his tentacles on the sides of it. His antennas bounced upon it and he could smell a strange scent from it. it wasn't bad, nor did it smell like perfume he could remember from a long time ago. But the smell of the paper..... was comfortable. He observed that this was perhaps her plainest writing he had ever seen.  
He observed once more that she had drawn an simple smiley face at the end of it. This was something new to the note.

All of a sudden, she whistled an alerting whistle to him. She was probably asking him, What's taking you so long to read it? or perhaps she was saying Hey!

Without even thinking, he suddenly _smiled_ up at her when he was done filling his head with the thought that he would see her again tomorrow for the promised second day in a row. The small spaces at his mouth parts hitched up with the thin tendons underneathe straining along with it and his tentacles and pincers curled up to reveal more of the tube-like growths on his neck moving downwards like river streams to his chest cavity. He stopped an instant later when he realized that he had smiled directly at her.  
He hated his smile.  
Christopher had always found his smile to be the worst of the worst. He didn't exactly have the face formations as few prawns did for smiles and he remembered once smiling genuinely only to have someone ask why he was making a grimace. He hated how he looked with a smile. He hated how goofy he must have looked when he smiled and how especially he might seem to her.  
He quickly unfurled his mouth parts and his hand leapt to cover his pincers. Christopher turned his head away, the exoskeleton cracking as he did so, and regarded her from the corner of his eyes.

She whistled a questioning smile.

_"Nothing's wrong.... I... I just don't like to smile that often. It makes me look stupid."_ he explained to her nervously as he still kept his mouth parts covered with his three-tentacled hand.

Fumnanya leaned closer, but still far that he could see caution in her posture. Her hand hovered lightly over his shoulder, not touching him and the confidence that she had when she touched his leg suddenly seemed to be nowhere.  
She broke into a big smile and clicked quietly, yet loudly enough that surely only he would be the one to hear the message. _"No.... don't.... don't do that ever again...Christopher."_

He squinted his brows at hearing break off hesitantly in the desperation for a long complete sentence. _"Perhaps I'm not the only one to talk. I don't like to smile very often, so I can't ask or expect you to speak when you don't like to. Aren't you glad to have something now to defend yourself when you don't want to speak with me?"_

She shook her head, her whistling wavering up and down.  
_"No... You.... you have a... really... nice ssm~ile...."_ she clicked and whistled with her mixed eyes rolling into the back of her head every so often. _"It..... s'not.... stupe... dumb...."_

He slowly lowered his hand and turned towards her again, his pincers bouncing off his mouthparts and tentacles. His neck creaked as he breathed so leisurely. He could discreetly see her hand trembling with the notebook like she was fighting the urge to write on the notebook and simply get what she wanted across in but a few moments. Her hand clenched around the binding of paper and linings of muscles twitched on the side of her thumb and the middle of her hand.

She was already so close. He could see her tongue just lapping inside her mouth as she clicked and reclicked over her mistakes.

_"k...k... kh... klu.... smile..... I.... really like... your smile...."_ Her face was red and blue at the same time and he chuckled,_ smiling_ for her. _"... I... I talk more...... when.... you smile..... more."_

_"You would want that?"_ he asked her almost too seriusly.

She nodded her head, but stopped the same as he did a moment after and desperately tried to click out though she did bite on her tongue a few times,_ "Yes."_

_"....I'm impressed."_ he said matter of factly. She had actually spoken 5 whole sentences that weren't mere fragments that she usually spoke as. True it had been practically butchered, but it was very good from her saying minute things to suddenly speaking in full sentences.  
_"That's pretty good. Let's try some more; What do you know about-"_ he stopped in mid sentence when he felt her hand on his thigh once more. She smiled back at him with her crescent smile and her hand darted for propping up the notebook against _his _knee and flipping the cap off the marker. Her hand was quick with the marker; he could see only circles and semi circles in her hand that he was sure she was writing nothing but circles as well.  
But in the end, the note was presented with her lowercase 'e's and 'a's almost looking simial with small branches differing between them.

**Okay, you don't have to smile anymore today.  
No more talking please.  
I'm really tired.**

And then she yawned the biggest yawn he ever saw.

* * *

**Please review.  
I know this chap sort of sucked a little bit with nothing, but I don't want to rush too much into anything. I want this to be realistic and I want you guys to believe this actually could happen. The next chapter will be more tantalizing, I swear.**


	6. Why?

**Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.**

**I'm holding the next chappie hostage! Unless you want to see it in a full complete piece with the grammer still attached, the spelling in good shape, and it not having already lost a good fluffy part or anything, I want a ransom of at least 10 reviews for this one. You won't see the next chappie in good shape for a long time if I don't get me those reviews!**

**.....Nah, I'm just kidding! 3**

**OR AM I?!**

**...... No, seriously, I'm just kidding with you guys. :3;3**

**OR AM I?!!**

**REVIEW!**

**review please.**

* * *

Fumnanya did in fact come back again tomorrow to his surprise. It turned out that she was also true to her word whenever she said everything. She wore almost the same thing she had yesterday except in her hands were a large paper bag that took up about half her torso volume from her shoulders down to her waist. In her other hand, she tried hard to support a cup that he could smell from practically a mile away. The aroma was bitter and his mouth parts furled and unfurled at the scent of it pinching his alien type nostrils.

As she walked into the District with the familiary butcher next to her and his arms just hovering around her, Christopher wondered if he should go to the entryway into the District to walk her in. Suddenly the memory of when she came back the second time and gave him the red jacket that he now wore faithfully -because of the insulted expression she gave him when she saw him without it- came back as he recalled the same shy and fearful expression on her face again.  
On that day when they had walked side by side, only seperated by thin metal and barbed wire, she had told him that she was scared of non-humans, of going into District 9. Her first time when she had brought him the cat food had not been a moment which would compell her to come back within the fence in militerized area. She had been too scared to enter into the District with him even though he was there, and it was only when the butcher was with her that she had willingly come back again.  
He wondered if she really did think of him as harmless or was still frightful of him turning on her and tearing her limb from limb. He stood yards away from the gates.

It was too early in the morning. Too early that so very few were out to eat and even fewer were out to watch and... be. The District 9 prostitutes were already walking up and down alongside their pimps and boyfriends or purchasers.  
The Nigerian butchers came out with carts full of raw goat and cow meat, along with a a box of cat food encased in a blue-paper wrapped can. The skies were of the dark blue, the moon still apparent in the skies with the orange sun of Africa just peaking through the tall skyscrapers that greatly populated Johannesburg. He watched her as she strided so gracefully in the dirt and trash. It was so different he realized, to see her again at this hour. His vision was still blurry from fatigue and it stung to try and keep it open.

But he couldn't stay asleep because of the resident rats that found themselves scurrying about in the slums. It was not enough eating them for when one was gone, 2 came back to take its place and so on. The taste of rats was undistinguished and nauseating; having almost no flesh on the bones and only wiry tendons and muscles on the minute limbs. They tasted as though they had been soaked in the foulest things ever, worse than bones or compost. He hated the taste of them. If they tasted better or were a bit more stocked in meat, then he wouldn't have minded the extra company. Aside from the bad taste, they had the nasty habit of chewing his wires that he was using and so he would have to find more wires as back up and something big to smash the rats.

The thought of her saying that she would come back tomorrow actually had him curious to see if she would follow through with what she wrote. She did indeed. It was odd to see her so awake like she was when he first saw her as to opposed yesterday when her gazes were cold and drained of life like she could've just dropped in the dump and slept there if she wanted to. Compared to everyone, she was wide awake and her movements, even the stillest, seemed more static than if the man next to her would've run or something.

She waved to him and whistled something that was quick and brief.

He assumed that she probably meant it as a greeting to him.  
_"Hi."_ he said to her, waving his arm tiredly as the elbow stayed glued to his protruding hip. She skipped over a few pieces of trash, her smile looking so bright -brighter than yesterday when he had thought that she would drop dead. She stood in front of him as he sat resting tired on a large concrete chunk that he was using as a makeshift bench, wires were tangled and twisted in his 3-tentacled hands. Her eyes were clear to see with her hair tied back out of her face; they widened to a familiar expression of surprise as she stood diligently. He looked up towards her -not wanting to let her know what he was planning to do with the wires- and told her that he thought they looked pretty and he was going to decorate his home with them later.

Her eyes tilted at his hands and she inquired if he needed any help untangling them from his hands.

He told her that it would be alright and he could do it himself.

_"I came back."_ she simply stated in distant words as she sat down next to him. Her hands hugged the bag tighter to her and the subtle crunch of paper practically echoed in the District. She took a sip of her drink and sighed heavily as her eyes looked far away. The sun rose higher and higher, turning parts of her skin orange and golden. He squinted looking at her and moved to adjust his vision.

_"Just like you promised."_ he added. Christopher pulled out a long red wire and stared at it as he held it close to his face. It was clearly too small and it was too thin to hold any sort of alien equipment, let alone try to substitute for one of them. He placed it in his mouth and chewed on the rubbery skin. He looked up to see if she had seen him in the wire, but no, her attention was still diverted to whatever it was she was staring at and the bitter smelling cup in her hand.

Her face directed towards him and her cheeks puffed out as she whistled. _"Glad to see me?"_ she asked, placing the large paper bag in the space between the 2 of them, her hand still gripping it tightly. He wasn't sure why exactly, but staring at her made him feel all the more tired and exhausted than it did yesterday when she came stumbling and yawning. Christopher looked discreetly in the bag, seeing nothing at top but the fading shadows of whatever it was that lurked at the bottom. He wondered what was in the bag, could it have been more catfood. He eagerly hoped deep down that she had indeed brought more catfood for him to eat.

With a free hand, she reached to the base of her head and pulled at her hair.  
He was about to ask her why she was pulling her hair until he realized it was actually a hair elastic in her fingertips. She pulled the little band clear off her head and the hair sprung forward like some sort of warning call. the curls jumped and bounced as she shook her head. Her hands ran through the hair, having it point towards the heavens and settle like falling feathers on the sides of her face. Locks fell in front of her face, but she blew them away.  
In his opinion, she looked a lot better with her face down like that, it just seemed to match her; her standing out as she always did to him and her eccentricity. Her eyes closed in a kind of way it didn't look tired but more like a contemplation, her eyelashes casted dark shadows over her cheeks; the little thin streaks blending in with the strands of curly thick locks that begged for entrance into her puckered mouth.  
He asked after seeing her taking in a slight yawn; her hand covering her mouth, the shiny white teeth glaring through the darkened skin and lips, _"Are you doing any better?"_

She tilted her head and whistled a quizzical _tweeeet._

He explained to her -his antennas suddenly pointing towards her and tugging the base of his head, egging on to jump into the jungle of her hair, _"You looked so tired yesterday. I.... I was worried something was wrong with you."_  
With the few remaining wires in his hands that he had deemed would be adequate enough to replace a few of the wirings that had combusted in the small ship under his home, he balled them up in his hands. He pointed to her hands and gestured how often she had yawned yesterday when she came to see him again.

Her eyes rolled at the top of her lids. _"Tired, yeah...."_ she clicked hesitantly. The sun was rising higher and the lights were so blinding. More non-humans were coming out of their huts to scavenge for food, play(smashing and setting fire were prime favorite recreational past-times), and getting ready to take the MNU-licensed bus to work in the factories. Many of them passed by his and fumnanya, glancing at them both but more importanly at the bag that sat between them. Fumnanya saw where their gazes were headed too and simuteneously pulled the bag closer to her body as she moved closer to him; the space between the both of them becoming smaller.  
She looked up and down and everywhere.  
Until her eyes landed on him and stare at him all over. He suddenly felt embarrassed at having her stare at him in such a way that he carefully moved his legs closer together without having her notice his sudden shyness to her looks. She moved closer to him and pointed a hovering finger above his half naked thigh. She didn't touch him like she did before. He supposed that she remembered and felt embarassed for touching him or she had recalled the clear uncomfort when she squeezed his leg and he had stiffened under her. Nonetheless, she didn't touch him and kept her hands to herself. Her mouth opened wide as she clicked and every so often in the syllables, her hand would tap against the side of her head like she was trying to knock the word out onto the tip of her tongue.  
_"You found.... found....."_ she struggled to say to him.

_"Pants? Yes."_ Christopher finished for her.

She nodded and moved farther away from him. Taking another sip of her drink. Coffee -she told him, pointing at the bubble letters on the side of the cup that clearly read coffee. Fumnanya cocked her head once more at him and whistled w_heeee_, obviously asking about the origin of his new garment.

_"After you left, I found a pair close to my house. It was more than torn up, but after a few adjustments it was better."_ he clicked and growled to her as his knees seperated apart from each other.  
The brown ragged thing covered only his pelvic region, but it didn't cover anything underneathe. It was resembled something of a very short skirt on him, but he compensated for it to retain some aspect of looking like pants by taking other pieces of it and wrapping it around his legs to create the illusion of pant sleeves. It didn't look as ridiculous as before but it still felt odd to walk and feel the exoskeleton shells of his legs brush together without the barrier of fabric.

Fumnanya must've felt more daring for after taking another sip of her coffee, she reached forward and pinched a small amount of the dirty greasy fabric. Her expression went from curiosity to sour as her face scrunched together inwards to her nose and she shook her head, the hair flying everywhere. Her fingers rolled the fabric around and moved like a snail to the edge where he had ripped it before, the threading coming looser apart and turning into fuzzy fringe. His gaze went over to her pants around her fleshy thighs and his own substitute that suddenly seemed like a skirt compared to hres. He felt incredibly emasculated for before on the home-planet, he had been raised to prepare for a paternal role than a maternal role.

She tugged on the end of his provisional trousers and her hand snapped away with a few of the brown strands in her pinching fingers. Her face was one of disbelief and held an uncouth nature that he wasn't used to seeing on her nor could he have imagined that embodiment of clever features being capable of making a face like that. She looked up at him, still holding the face with strong lines around her mouth as the corners of her lips pointed downwards and her eye brows furrowed together to create vertical logs between her eyes. He could practically hear her non-existant voice asking why he would and how could he wear something like that.

_"I would rather wear something that covered only the necessities than that which has been made it look like it was designed for going to the toilet."_ he told her, his face stern and serious. He actually was serious, compared to what the other non-human residents wore, this was actually the norm. Some wore worse than he did or decided to just go naked, taking full pride in thei outer shells and physique or simply not caring -like the drone workers which populated most of the non-human population- and not being able to find any sort of material to wear.

But she laughed silently at what he said, the frown flipping into a mirrow image and all the disfiguring features of her face disappearing to be replaced by smooth cheeks and chin. But the mime laugh was quickly gone and replaced with a serious one that matched his almost perfectly. She pointed back and forth with her index between her jeans and his ragged trousers. It took her very long to speak and 3 times, she bit her tongue and winced at the pain, biting on her lips. _"Can get you..... pants."_ was what had finally came out from her lips and the ends of her teeth and tongue.

_"You've done too much now. I can't ask for any more. I don't want to bother you too much."_ he told her, gesturing with both of his hands held up and his wrists offered out to her.

Her frown became harder and she shook her head back and forth. She puckered her lips forward and prepared for a marathon of clicks and whistles to tell him what she thought, to give him a 'piece of her mind'. Her head would twitch and toss with each finished syllable and he could see anger sprouting beautifully on her face like a crimson flower. Every so often, he would hear a very sharp "Tch... tch..." in the midst of her speaking. She seethed through clenching and snapping teeth, _"Bother.... don't like.... it..... when.... you....."_

He sighed and placed a tentacled finger on her shoulder and pulled it back like he was afraid he would burn him if he left it there too long. She stopped speaking and sat up straighter, gazing deep into his gold eyes, her green splashing brown eyes booring into him. Putting the wires into the pockets of his red jacket, he broke down for her, looking at her and the ground at his feet alternatingly, _"I understand what you're saying. But would you enjoy it if someone constantly asked you for material possessions whenever they saw you? I don't think so and most humans wouldn't either. Honestly, why would you want to spend money on a non-human like me?"_ He motioned with his antennas and his mouthparts at her and then pointed a long finger at himself, tapping upon the concave space at the base of his armoured neck to further his point to her.

The look on her face was exactly the same as if he had suddenly told her that he was growing a tail and he had great white wings on his back. She took a sip of her coffee once more, but the wide-eyed expression was stuck on her face. Brushing some of the strands out of her mouth's way, she clicked out a few simple clicks that were consummately well-said and put together. _"Friends."_

_"Friends?"_ The shock and suprise was clear and loud in both his actions and tone of growls.  
It was his turn to be surprised. She thought of him as friends? Actually, she considered him to be a friend rather than an ongoing obligation? He was flabbergasted, his only friends were the other non-humans whom he worked with and collaborated with. He didn't think that she would regard him as such. Yet while her simple word had suddenly opened up his eyes and self and made him feel like an entire burden was taken off his shoulders, at the same time he felt more downhearted like he had been dropped from a very high place. He wasn't sure as to why he felt ecstatic to hear it directly and officially that they were friends and disheartened to hear the relationship status as such.  
He chalked it up under for his hormones because he was sure that he was coming into fertile stage this time of year. He noticed his testosterone levels were lowering and he often felt the urge to run and he could smell pheromones even more strongly now. He deduced it was because he was entering the fertile stage and concluded that the bi-polar feeling of her telling him that they were both friends was also a side effect to the fertile stage.  
Still, he could not stop whatever it was jumping inside him to calm down and settle in his pits nor the ongoing waves of depression battering his spine at what she had told him.  
He looked over to Fumnanya whose serious and abashed countenance changed to his own.

Her mouth gaped like she realized she had said something that had unintentionally offended him or that she shouldn't have said in the first place. Through the dark skin, he saw something that took him long to recognize what he was exactly; a blush. She fidgeted with her fingers but it would always jump up now and again to dance for her, to speak for her, and she would place them under her legs. But not before taking another sip of her coffee. She flipped her head side to side, wondering what to say to him he supposed. She looked so frustrated with what she was doing. Regret was clear on her face, but he wasn't sure what she regretted exactly; telling him that they were friends or even thinking of him as a friend. Not until she struggled to explain to him what was bothering her, _"I think.... we..... we're...."_

_"I'm glad that we are friends."_ he said back, leaning forward and motioning with his hands, palm up towards her, the trust that he planted in her. Her face drained of the colour it had before and she laughed silently, her eyes squinting and the corners of her mouth stretching from ear to ear.  
He eased her as she had eased him and excited him was the least he could do for her. And it made him happy deep down that he had done it with a verification like that.

_"I.... like... helping friends. Don't..... be.... k-k-khhe.... scared.... to ask for help. That's the reason for.... friends."_ she said as she looked down and the clicks became more muffled and abstruse.

But he could still recognize the keywords and pieced them together easily, knowing for sure what was the main idea of what she said. She really was too nice. There was something about her that already told him that she cared more than she ought to. The proof had already been in coming to see him and gradually rising above her fear of the non-humans and District 9. Whenever she came, she gave to him as much as she could, as best as she could. And she never asked him for anything in return, she never expected it. All she did want though was appreciation for her efforts and what she did. Such a simple thing and he couldn't give it on one occasion and now worked hard to show that he did appreciate it; wearing the jacket she gave him faithfully and keeping it safe.  
_"You're too nice. I can't... I don't like to be the one who takes and never gives, especially to someone..... as kind as you."_ he complimented her. Christopher was embarrassed that he had said something as sappy as that, but he felt that it needed to be said. He was almost positive that parts of his exoskeleton had a slight tinge of red.

_"Christopher..... is sweet. Christopher is sweet to me."_ she clicked, cooing back at him and she smiled almost too timidly at him that he wondered what _did_ go on in that head of hers when she sported that look of batting her eyelashes and smirking so innocently.

Something inside him just jumped, flipping upside down and doing backflips. He smiled at what she said and he felt lighter inside, not caring at how stupid he must've looked because in her aim to talk and speak, he promised her before that he woud smile more often.  
She smiled back at him just as warmly, encouraging him even more to widen those muscles and laugh.

An idea blinked inside her and she reached inside the brown paper bag. It crinkled as her hand moved around in there. Very slowly, she brought out something white that was shiny, looking opposite as opposed to her black hand. She unwrapped a little bit of it and the smell of fish and meat that he loved came wafting from the little wrapped package. She held it out to him and smiled even more if it was possible. _"Tuna salad. Try."_ she whistled to him.

The bread was cold but it was very soft; practically melting in his mouth like frost. But this 'frost' was fluffy and it gave him mouth a more satisfied feeling, sticking to his little jagged teeth. There were small crunches as he chewed and swallowed, the crunches breaking out into juices that tickled his sandy tongue and curled it. It was meat as far as he could tell; the sensitive parts of his mouth flicking at the little strands of flesh. It tasted very similar to cat food really; the saltiness and the wet moisture that rolled around like fine butter. The fish was wet and it wasn't dry as he had thought before when she mentionned tuna salad. The taste had come to almost a shock to him at how robust it was but the soft fluffy bread did its job in toning it down while complimenting it perfectly and adding more to fill.  
It moved so easily to the back of his throat and went down all the more. It spread all over his tongue to his cheek pockets and down his gullet. But his teeth itched at how soft it was and obscurely, he wished for it to be tougher to give him something to chew.

He mumbled as he stuffed it into his mouth, the mouth parts and tentacles shadowing over each other. Dirt was mixed in as well.  
_"It's.... good. Very good."_

She nodded and smiled at him, handing him another sandwich from inside the bag. . He took another bite, already leaving one thrid of the sandwich left. Christopher pointed at the bag and Fumnanya politely raised her hand against it. She pushed the bag over to him and he asked her if she was really giving him a whole bag of tuna salad sandwiches.

She told him that she got a high discount for the sandwiches where she worked and she suggested for him that he could also share it with his friends. But the sandwiches had to be quick to eat because there was mayonaise in it which could spoil very fast.  
He didn't care.  
Like all non-humans, he often had to eat from the garbage just to survive because the money he made couldn't support him for both food and recreation sometimes. Plus the rationing oil they gave out as power was costly to them and he had to have a lot power and batteries to continue repairing and upgrading the ship. So what was the point in having a lot and eating quick to have it gone for later? He could eat a few now and give one to Mike and Charles each later when they met again tonight to look at this ship, but save the rest for tomorrow when he went to work again. He was reminded to tell her that he would be off at work tomorrow. Secretly, he hoped on the inside that since she considered him a friend, she also considered him to be the main reason why she came to District 9 when she did. He didn't want to think that she came to visit people like that heavy-set butcher he saw the other day.

She nodded again and drank some more of her coffee.

_"Read a very nice story this morning.... Want to hear?"_ She asked him as she set the cup down. Fumnanya rolled her lips inside her mouth between her teeth. One of her hands rubbed her cheeks, moving in small circles and molding the flesh around. She was getting tired, but that was a good sign. It showed that she had put in more effort than she did last week.

_"Of course. I love hearing you speak. You improve with every word and phrase."_ he complimented her, hoping that she could know how much he meant it, how much he did indeed love to hear her speak to him and for him.

It wasn't that she told the story to him; they collaborated on it and finished it for each other. Her words and phrases were slow and jumbled into each other that it was often she would pull out her notebook to write a sentence or a word she couldn't translate or remember. Her hands would dance and play in front of her as though it very well was spinning the tale out of thin air. He could see the adroit ability of her fingertips in the cold morning air in front of his tired eyes.  
When the notebook was starting to come out a little too often, he would take his hand and lower the dry notebook away from her view and have her try to remember the word or have her repeat the word from his own mouthparts.  
Once, twice, thrice.... she would repeat what he said and then every while he would repeat the word and she would write it down in english upon her notebook. Between each little part of her story, he would stop her to advise on her posture or her breathing so that her 'speaking' could be more comprehensible if she were to ever speak to another non-human.  
When he noticed that she was getting tired an she would stretch her mouth, the heart-shaped face getting longer, he would grant her some mercy and finish the word for her and have her continue with what part she was getting to in the story.

* * *

**The story of Godfather Death is old and changing, but the ideas ran close to each other.**

**The man's father had been poor all his life and wanted the best for his first son. He went out looking for a Godfather that would be willing enough to take care of his son. He asked rich men, but they wanted nothing to do with him. He continued looking and soon came upon God. **

**God said that he saw the child's future to be blessed and offered to be the son's Godfather with the gift of health and happiness. The man declined the idea because while God was merciful, he favoured poverty and rewarded suffering in Heaven.  
****The man met the Devil after. The Devil offered to be the son's Godfather with the gift of gold and worldly goods. But, the man knew about the devil and his ways of tricking mankind.  
****Finally he met Death. He knew Death and how he was indiscriminate to all and decided that would be perfect as his son's Godfather. The man asked Death to be his son's Godfather and Death agreed. **

**The boy was 15 when he met again with his Godfather. He asked, "Are you here to take me away, Godfather?" **

**Death replied, "No, I am going to make you a doctor." **

**Death showed the young man a secret garden that could cure all. Taking just a mouthful of the herbs would cure anybody. However, Death warned that if the boy was going to cure someone, he would have to watch for if Death were to stand at someone's feet, there would be no point of giving the medecine. When Death was at the person's head, he could heal them.  
****The boy became prosperous and famous. One day when the King was sick and the young boy saw that Death was already standing at the foot of the King's bed.  
The young boy felt sorry for the King that he tricked Death by turning the King over so that Death was at his head. The young boy quickly fed him the magical herb and the King was cured. Death was upset with the young man about breaking his promise. **

**The boy begged for forgiveness and Death granted it. However Death told him that should he ever disobey again, he would surely die. The young man promised to never disobey. Soon the King's daughter fell ill and when the young man was called in to cure her, he immediately saw Death standing at the foot of the Princess's bed. The young man had only seen the young Princess's face and fell in love with her. The King promised the young man that if he could cure her, he could marry her and inherit the throne. The young man quickly took the Princess and turned her so that her head was at Death and he fed her the magical plants.  
She was cured. **

**Death was outraged and brought the young man to a cavern behind his garden filled with of candles. He told his Godson that each Candle represented a dying life and in saving and increasing the Princess's lifespan, he had without knowledge made his own shorter.  
****The young man begged for his Godfather Death to make his life long once more so that he could be with the Princess whom he had fallen in love with. Death reminded him of the promise he had made. The young man begged and cried to be with his love. **

**Death agreed, but in a swift act of vengeance, he switched the candle lengths so that while the young man would then again have a full life, the Princess would take his place and die.**

* * *

_"Know the meaning?"_ she asked him as she placed her hand behind her back and then the notebook suddenly disappeared out of plain sight.

His antennas wagged up and down as he thought carefully about his answer. _"'Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me?'"_ he quoted the human expression after once hearing it from the mouth of a scrawny white man whom had been yellling at a prawn for trying to sell him a broken tv and the tv ended up being one that the human had thrown out.

She shook her head, her hair flying everywhere.

_"What then?"_

_"Can't cheat Death."_ she said simply and then she took a sip of her coffee. She slurped her drink and held onto it in her lap. her eyes darted back and forth as though she was looking for something. He thought that she couldn't have been looking for someplace to throw away that drink, was she? It would've been foolish to try and look for a trashcan in a slum/dump. He waited for a while as she would stand up again and again turning around and around. She would sit down again with her fingertips tapping against the paper walls of the cup.

Finally he told her that she may as well chuck it onto the ground because she wouldn't find any garbage cans or bins in District 9. Her expression was hesitant as she lowered the cup onto the ground and settled it there as though she was freeing it into the wild. He chuckled at her naive nature, but it was still good to see that sort of behavior in a place wrought with sin and crime everywhere.

They were silent for a moment. Neither of them knew what to say to each other. They sat still on the piece of jagged concrete that served as a makeshift bench with curious eyes trailing over them as their beholders passed by moderately and fleetingly.  
She moved closer to him, he imagined. Or maybe he didn't imagine it. He looked to her hands that were closed so dilligently in her lap and her feet that were crossed over one another, the black heels blending in so perfectly and the jeans complimenting her complexion.

Suddenly the confident air she had that was able to barely sustain in a place filled with the Underworld of Africa and Nigeria and hostile dangerous non-humans, became a small shell of insecuriy that he could feel in the small -yet still significant- decrease in temperature around her. Her eyes went full, like water had rose in their colour and was overflowing, threatening to drown anybody cocky enough who dared to stare her straight in the eyes. Her mouth that he always saw flapping up and down desperately trying to be heard albeit her condition was still and almost quivering like it was too cold or she was trying hard not to utter a word.  
Her long fingers fidgeted with the newspaper that she held. Every so often, she would look up next to him, and then her eyes would cast down as though she suddenly reconsidered what she was about to do or say. Her shoulders bunched up to her ears with the messy hair as well slowly spilling out of the wrapped bun that she had tied onto her shoulders.

He drank in the sight of her vunerable that he found almost too delicious and shamed himself about it. Without her talking or rather trying to make a conversation about something with him every moment, he took this chance to observe her, to emprint everything of her and about her in his memory so that he would have something to give him a sense of compassion when everything would get too crazy or too hard.  
She would be his lifeboat in his way of trying to retain his sanity in a world that had its inhabitants souless almost.

_'You just want to check her out._' a little voice mocked him in his head.

_'No, I don't._' he argued back with his little subconscious.

_'Yes, you do. You don't want her for all that fucking noble shit about a happy memory and friendly shit. You just want to know what she looks like so you have something to imagine for when you jerk off!'_ it laughed mercilessly.

_'See, I'm going crazy deep down now. This is exactly why I need a thought -any thought- to keep from hearing voices in my head.'_ he pointed out to the little subconscious.

_'That would be a good reason, but get this; I'm your reasoning. How do you like them apples?_' it laughed and laughed.

He looked at her, wanting to see what was it indeed besides her eyes and her oddness that always had her invading his thoughts especially when he was down in the dark fixing the command ship. It certainly wasn't totally her hair.... now that he looked closer, it wasn't as long as he thought, it was rather short actually with it barely gracing her shoulders. It must've been her long neck that gave the illusion of extra length. He laughed silently at watching her eyes; the way it always shifted side to side like she was suspicious all the time and how every so often her nose would scrunch up and twitch. She really did seem like a feline to him; those shiny eyes that were filled with so much life and mischief while all at the same time not knowing what indeed was going to happen next.  
Curiosity really did kill the cat.  
Her skin wasn't as dark as he remembered; it was as though she had simply been playing all day in the dirt, being slowly baked by the sun instead of burnt to a dark ashy crisp. There were spots on her skin where the sun shone that it was coloured a dark honey. His mouth almost started watering when he made that metaphor. She was organic, free growing like a weed or a vine. There were no lines on her that could be identified as uniform or systematic. Everything about her was impulsive and 'so with the flow'. His eyes subtly followed each line; the curve of her neck ligaments blending into the collar of her uniform, the little stitches on the edge of it crossing each other, the empty spaces around her turning fuller. Without realizing what had happened, he suddenly found his eyes drawn to the crease of her skin on her front resulted by her leaning forward too much and her arms coming too close in the middle. It was then his turn to turn away almost shyly at the truth about where he had been staring out for the past time.

He bet that they must've looked like the shy teenagers that one so often saw in the streets sitting on the park benches outside the fence lines and in the magazines that often found their way into the trash heaps of District 9. Or rather like a sexual predator having already lured a willing victim and was contemplating on how to devour her.

She spoke up, he could hear her lips smacking together and her tired breath, _"Why?"_

He moved a little farther away from her but turned to face her directly, _""Why" what?"_

She tried to speak with her tongue clicking so rapidly against the roof of her mouth, but each time she was getting into it, her tongue would suddenly flop dead as though exhausted or she would bite herself on the lips. It was apperent that something was on her mind and it was stressing her enough that she couldn't concentrate to form the sounds of the language that always had her looking a fool. The bloated look in her eyes became clearer and the muscles on her long swan-like neck twtiched and moved like logs bobbing over and under black waters. She sighed, heaving her shoulders forward.  
Again, she looked at him only to look away; an expression of turmoil on her face as though she couldn't decide what was right or wrong.

He leaned in slightly closer, his hand clenching tight on the steel piece of concrete, _"What is it?"_

There was a sort of pitiful smile on her lips and he wished that he knew the reason behind the sudden silence from her or the frustration that she displayed so clearly. At first when he met her, he had thought her silence was most welcoming because he wouldn't hear any curses from her and that it was uplifting to hear her struggle to speak his language.  
She took out her notebook from behind her and flipped through the crinkled sheets, the yellow coloured papers buzzing alive. She..... Fumnanya came to a page with a huge word scrawled on it in the black ink that leaned to the right and had been underlined ferociously;

**Why?**

It had clearly been written for some other occasion, before his for sure looking at the light navy spot of certain part of the sole word.  
_"I don't understand."_ he growled to her, tapping the word. She flipped the sheet over and on one half had black scribbles clearly meant to black out something that she didn't want anyone to see, or perhaps she didn't want to see it again herself. Abeni wrote slowly this time, her hand tracing the paper as though she had become lost and tried to recollect on how to spell once more. She didn't look up at him, all in all it seemed that she didn't want to look up at anything; all that mattered to her was what she was writing. She wrote something down, but then crossed it out with the ink scritching scratching over the paper and she wrote something else after it.  
He counted that she had made a total of about 7 mistakes in her note. the fact that she couldn't talk to him like she just had been a few minutes ago was seriuos. Something must've been bothering even more than when she had told him that she thought of him as a friend, that she couldn't pronounce anything or think of how to speak. After a while of crossing out words and slow deep breathing over quick _scritching_, she appeared to be finished with the written message as her wrist lifted off the paper and her elbow moved along with it in a curving motion. She didn't pass the note over to him, she held it in her grip and kept her face down away from him.

**Why did you save me?**

the note read. Bringing the note back to the front of her chest once more, she briskly underlined the **'Why'** several times and showed it to him once more.

_"Does there always have to be a reason?"_ he questioned as he leaned forward in his seat and crossed his ankles just as she did.  
His brain was racking with his original thoughts of that day -it wasn't that he had any trouble remembering, no not at all- it was rather that he wasn't sure if he should share with her what he thought.

_"Christopher....."_ she whined with her whistles, long and rawling with a hint of a sort of _twaaang_.

What would he tell her?

* * *

**Short chappie yes, but I thought a cliffie would be good so far as I decide on how to tell this part. It'll explain why she'll still want to go into District 9 even though she's usually freaked out going in there without her butcher friend and it'll.... be worth it. Again, the hostage message still stands strong here.**

**Please review**

**Yes, I know I am totally meretricious, no need to tell me that in a review if you decide to and if you're nice about it.**


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